Coming Home
by rippingbutterflywings
Summary: After being partnered up to work on a school assignment together, Clary, who lives in New York, forms a friendship with Jace, who lives in Paris. However, when he breaks his promise to stay in contact and disappears suddenly from her life, Clary's left confused and heartbroken. So what happens when Jace unexpectedly reappears in her life by moving to her hometown? AU/AH. OOC.
1. Prologue

_Heeey, guys! So, this story was meant to be up a long time ago, but life sucks and I had a lot of crap going on, so I waited until now because a) I wanted enough of this story to be read/beta'd so that I don't miss a scheduled update, which would have been the case otherwise due to the craziness that is this year, and b) I was too busy to make this happen faster. Sorry! But, anyway, here it is. My first fic in first person, and the one I've actually loved writing from start to finish. I'm posting the first chapter along with this prologue, so that you actually get a feel of the story. I hope you like it!_

_Thanks to Katwood5 for beta'ing this for me despite everything that's happening in our crazy lives. I love you. :) Thanks to IWriteNaked and greygirl2358 for being supportive and awesome 24/7._

_Without further ado, here's the prologue. :) _

* * *

><p>Dear Jace,<p>

My school and your school are in some sort of partnership or something, so I guess it's required for us to be "friends" now. Well, the appropriate term is "pals," but I don't really want to sound like a balding old man, so I'll stick with friends, if not acquaintances.

Anyway, I should probably say something about myself. I'm Clary Fray, and I just turned sixteen over the summer. I'm (sadly) a junior in high school. I love art in all forms. I (shockingly) hate school, have a geeky best friend, and live in New York. (Duh. Whatever, Jace. We'll see if you can come up with a creative introduction when it's your turn.)

I really hate this assignment, and I just failed a math test today. Nice to meet you. Sort of.

* * *

><p>Dear Clary,<p>

First off: I failed a math test, too, but only because I don't really give a crap about my grades _or _about math.

Secondly: I will entertain you in a million different ways. I'm going to blow your mind.

Thirdly: I'm glad to inform you that you don't sound like a balding old man, and the term "friends" is fine by me.

I'm Jace Wayland. I, unlike you, don't live in New York, but in Paris (Yes, having an international pen pal was _totally _an option, though not many people from your school got people from mine, because there are, like, 40 people in my grade). Instead of introducing myself in the way you have done (which was…okay, though slightly overdone), I'm going to ask a couple of people (read: girls) to describe me. I'll use direct quotes, don't worry.

Okay, so I'd saved this as a draft and am back with my quotes. Here we go.

Kaelie Thomas: She says that I'm "delicious" and "to die for" and, uh, claims that our hookup was "like going to heaven." She's kind of creepy, but she approached me, so I thought, "Hell, why not?"

Aline James: One of my good friends (and a lesbian, just so you won't think I'm cheating here) says I "look like a God" and "all girls follow me like my bitches," which is, well, true.

Girl #1 (sorry to say I don't know her name, but she drooled a lot): "Well, um, you have really gorgeous eyes, and your hair's also really good. And, uh, my friend says you have a really nice ass."

Girl #2: "I've been in love with you since the third grade." (I thought she was kind of weird.)

Girl #3: "You have really good taste in music, and I've always thought that guys who play the guitar and dress in black are the ones you should keep." (She was kind of cute. Might ask her out.)

Anyway, girls love me. A couple of my guy friends were gonna say stuff about me, but I decided not to put them in here, 'cause, well, you're a girl. Whatever.

I'm pretty sure—like, 100% sure—I entertained you a lot more than you did me. Though I do think you've got a cool personality, with your "I don't give a shit" sarcasm that is so universally understood. I admire you, Clary.

Can't wait to hear what you think.

Also, if you need corroboration and want a picture of my sexy ass, all you need to do is ask.

* * *

><p>Jace,<p>

You are an asshole.

I have never met a guy who is more infuriating, and I haven't even actually met you. I highly doubt that girls drool over you, and I don't think there is anybody who would praise your ass, especially not someone who has heard you speak, assuming that you speak the way you type.

I don't care what you think about me. I couldn't give a _shit _if you think that my personality is endearing. I've had a really bad day, and reading an email from a guy who can't seem to get his head out of his ass is _really _not what I need right now.

If you are the kind of guy to deem people around you so unimportant that you can't even ask for their _names_, then I really do not wanna talk to you again. That's the worst kind of thing someone can be: an ignorant, arrogant, self-centered asshole.

Have a nice life,

Clary.

* * *

><p>Clary,<p>

Ouch. I, for one, don't understand why you decided to take out all your anger on _me, _because I was trying a new, barely-done way of getting your attention. It was also in hopes that you would see how people see me.

I don't want you to think that I'm the kind of guy who doesn't care about other people. Well, actually, I kind of _do_ want you to think that, but it's threatening our assignment and I need a passing grade in English. So. Because of that _wonderful _fact, I'll try to make peace with you and tell you who I am. A little bit.

My name's Jace. I'm turning 17 in three months. I'm _so very sorry _that we got off on the wrong foot. I'm the captain of the soccer team, and my grades are actually not that bad. You know what I look like (and have heard about my ass), so I won't get into that. Girls _do _drool over me, despite your claim that they don't. I do speak the way I type sometimes, but people at my school don't seem to mind. It's refreshing that somebody can see that I speak like an asshole, though the way you phrased it makes me sound like I'm the World's Biggest Douchebag, which I'm not.

Anyway, sorry again. Please don't stop being my pen friend thing. I don't wanna get kicked off my soccer team/fail English (as a _senior_) and not graduate.

* * *

><p>Jace,<p>

I'm glad that you apologized, even though your apologies are so obviously sarcastic that my eyes might bleed. Anyway, I don't care if they are or aren't, but I'm glad that you semi-acknowledged that you are a total dick. Thanks.

You're a senior? I thought they were pairing us up with people taking our same course. I mean, according to my English teacher, this was supposed to be "a way for people from different schools to talk about literary works and express their opinions with people their own age" or whatever.

I don't really know what to make of your email. I don't _know _you, and you're asking me to save your ass. I don't know, Jace. This is kind of a huge thing. Too huge for a five-foot nothing redhead with a too-short temper. You have to give me a _little _bit more than that.

* * *

><p>Clary,<p>

My apologies were sincere. Pfft. Sarcasm? No idea what _that _is. You're welcome for my self-awareness, by the way. Very welcome.

I'm a senior, yeah. What English class are you taking? Ah, yes. My teacher said the same, and then a guy called Dave yawned so loud that she had to stop class to yell at him for five minutes. I love high school.

I don't know what else you want me to do. Do you want me to tell you the story of my pet falcon's tragic death? It's a sad one.

Seriously, though. I'm not good at talking about myself.

* * *

><p>Jace,<p>

Seriously, dude, shut up.

I'm taking AP English. Also, I think your Dave is our Gabriel, who got detention for three weeks after telling the teacher that the assignment was unnecessary, stupid, and that he would rather die than write to some other teenager who probably didn't give a shit about getting to know him or his interests.

Some people _really _love to express themselves. I mean, we only have one more month until Christmas break. No one really gives a shit anymore.

As amazing as _that _story sounds, I'd really rather not hear it.

Um, I don't know. Tell me something about you that most people don't know. What do you like to do? What's your favorite quote? Something _besides _the facts. I want real things, things I can't just find on your Facebook. (Which I will not look for, because _ew, _creepy.)

Anyway, I look forward to hearing your answers.

* * *

><p>Clary,<p>

AP English for me, too. I hate it, but my counselor recommended at least one AP course, and I'm not half bad at English. Your Gabriel sounds kind of dumb, though I admire his expressiveness.

Are you sure? Well, his name was Charlie, and he was my best friend. I'll tell you that.

What do I like to do? Soccer, girls, and music. I play the piano (or used to, but I haven't as of late). My favorite quote…I don't think I have a favorite quote. When I was little, my mom used to tell me something that I'm fairly sure was a quote by a dude called Henry something. It goes: "Three things in human life are important: the first is to be kind; the second is to be kind; and the third is to be kind." I haven't really been living up to it, even though that's _probably _what she meant for me to do, but being kind is hard when you're surrounded by idiots.

What about you, Clary Fray? What's _your _favorite quote? And your favorite song? What do _you _like to do?

Wow, that last "you" sounds accusing. It kind of is, to be honest.

* * *

><p>Dear Jace,<p>

I'm sorry you hate AP English. I didn't like it at first, because my teacher's kind of a bitch, but now I really, _really _like it. In fact, I'm kind of in love with it.

Charlie. How original.

Ha. Ha. "Girls." How freakin' original. Not like it was obviously an opening or anything. Idiot.

You played the piano? Why did you stop? I'd love to play piano, but I don't have the patience to learn. I wish I did, though. I think it's a beautiful instrument, and it sounds amazing.

The quote's by Henry James. He died on the last day of February almost one hundred years ago, you know. And it _is _hard to be kind when you're surrounded by idiots.

Fine. I guess I kind of deserve this. My favorite quote is…well, I have many. My favorite poetry quote is by Pablo Neruda, who's my favorite poet. I've been taking Spanish for three years just so I can understand his original poetry one day. Anyway, this is the quote: "I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul." Yeah, yeah, make fun of me or whatever.

My favorite book quote, though, is from _To Kill a Mockingbird. _Actually, there are two of 'em, and, for the sake of answering your question properly, I'll write them both down.

Quote #1: "You never really understand a person until you consider things from their point of view…until you climb inside his skin and walk around in it."

Quote #2: "Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved reading. One does not love breathing."

Favorite song right _now _is "Babel" by Mumford & Sons. ("I've never lived a year better spent in love" is a great lyric, let me tell you, and I sing it in my sleep.)

I like to draw. I like to read, but I don't do so often, and I like to play video games with my best friend, Simon, and listening to his girlfriend (and my friend) Isabelle, talk about whatever she wants to talk about. I like spending time with my mom in the art gallery she owns.

Anyway, there you go. The kind of long, elaborate answer you _should _have written to me. You're very welcome for the example, Jace Wayland.

* * *

><p>Dear Clary,<p>

Holy shit, you are a nerd. Not in a bad way.

Charlie was amazing and will never be forgotten, and he had the most badass name _ever_.

I'm choosing to ignore your insults from now on, because our conversations will be a lot more productive that way.

I don't really know why I stopped playing. I didn't consciously make the decision to, and sometimes I'll go and play something that I used to practice religiously, and I'll wonder why I ever stopped. I guess life got in the way or something.

I did not know that. Thank you for those enlightening facts. (And _no_, Fray, I am not being sarcastic.)

It's not cheesy. I don't really like poetry, but that wasn't half bad. I googled the poem, and it was bearable. (And by that I mean it was good.)

I liked _To Kill a Mockingbird. _Finally, something we can agree on.

Personally, "Little Lion Man" is always stuck in my head, not "Babel," though it's definitely a good song nonetheless.

What do you draw? I mean, do you do portraits, or landscapes, or just whatever? Why don't you read that much? I know it sounds like I'm asking a lot of questions, but I'm trying to keep this thing alive. Like I said, I'm asking you things because I am not good at talking about myself.

Anyway, Clary Fray, thank you for the wonderful example of what my answer _should _have been. Adieu.

* * *

><p>Dear Jace,<p>

I hate getting to know you like this.

I know you're probably going to roll your eyes and say that you don't understand me (because you don't, but that's completely beside the point). I just don't think that hearing what you think about what I do and then getting to know your favorite things says _that _much about you. I've been trying to figure out why it's bothering me, but then I realize that it's because I don't want to email someone I can't have a conversation with.

It's stupid. I know. So how about we try to just tell each other what's going on in our lives? Like, everyday stuff? Is that stupid?

By the way, you should go back to playing the piano. :)

* * *

><p>Dear Clary,<p>

That doesn't sound too bad. Here, I'll start.

Okay, so I woke up at five in the morning, and then I went on my usual morning run. It was cold as fuck, so I ran a little faster, listened to my music a little louder, and maybe sort of made the run a _little _shorter. But it was freezing, so you can't really blame me for it.

Then I went to my dorm, showered and changed, and met up with my friend, Sebastian, at the cafeteria, where we ate breakfast. This was also where Kaelie twirled her hair and asked if I wanted to take her out. I said no. I went to my classes. In math, the teacher threw an eraser at a guy who fell asleep. In science, someone threw up. It was all wonderful.

Then I had soccer practice, where Sebastian called me a pussy for not having sex with Kaelie (I'm only telling you this so you never ever come near Sebastian, because he is a giant dick and will probably try to have sex with you). I nailed him in the nuts with the ball. He didn't say anything to me after that.

I headed back to my dorm, then had dinner by myself, and am now eating ice cream (after showering) and writing this email to you. Oh, yeah, and I'm completely ignoring my homework. Because who needs homework, anyway?

I hope that was good enough for you.

* * *

><p>Dear Jace,<p>

Do your parents fight a lot? Sorry for asking, but…I was curious. Also, I totally forgive you cutting your run early. Exercise + the harsh, unforgiving Paris cold in November = completely an excuse to cut things short.

Ah, yes. A day in the life of Jace Wayland. Getting asked out by a girl. Of. Course.

I think I kind of like Sebastian. Not for trying to get you to have sex with Kaelie, but for calling you a pussy.

What kind of ice cream are/were you eating?

Today was boring for me, too. I woke up at 7, showered quickly, ate quickly, and got to school by 8:15. Isabelle, my friend, stopped by my house so we could walk to the subway together. She kept talking to me about her big date with Simon this weekend, which I _totally _didn't wanna hear about, because she kept going on about how she thought this was "the weekend." I do not need to know about their sexcapades, but apparently I don't have a choice in the matter, so I'm dragging _you_, basically a stranger, along for the ride.

Anyway, we went off to US History, which is our first period. The teacher's, like, _really _pregnant, and her water broke _in the middle of class _and there were kids crying and screaming and someone started hyperventilating, and the teacher was trying not to fall while someone got a nurse. It all went well, though. She was taken to a hospital (there's one, like, two blocks from my school), and I think she's doing okay.

The rest of my day was pretty uneventful, except a guy slapped Isabelle's butt while we were in line during lunch, and she kneed him in the balls. She has detention now.

I got home to an empty house and ate some leftover pizza, showered, took a one-hour nap, did some homework, and am now emailing you while I eat cookies. So, yeah. That's my day.

* * *

><p>Dear Clary,<p>

They fight a lot, yeah. I sometimes wonder why they're together, you know, in the same way I'm wondering why I'm telling you any of this, but I guess none of it makes any sense, so I just roll with it.

I was eating rocky road ice cream, by the way. The best.

Holy shit. I can't believe your teacher's water broke in the middle of class. I don't know whether to laugh or feel sorry for the poor, traumatized bastards in your class. Oh, well. I'm opting for the former.

Ah, that guy completely deserved to be kneed in the balls.

Seeing as I emailed an hour later, the only eventful thing that's happened is that a _Full House _marathon is on, and I've been watching it since I sent that last email.

* * *

><p>Jace,<p>

It's different, and you know it. People shouldn't be together if all they're going to be is unhappy. I mean, I'm no relationship expert, but I'm fairly sure that suffering isn't part of their charm.

Rocky road ice cream is good, but not the best. Mint chocolate chip is where the good things in life are. Seriously.

Ah, yes. Gotta love high school. It's not every day you get to witness the beginning of a birth. Definitely the former. Half of them were looking forward to the birth (her absence, rather), so it's only fair that they witness it.

She went easy on him, really.

Oh my god, I love _Full House_! I wish I could watch the marathon, but this five-paragraph essay is calling my name. Yay, school!

* * *

><p>Clary,<p>

There's going to be unhappiness in everything. How will you know what happiness is if it's the only thing you ever feel? It's like something I heard once. Someone said to me that you can't know how good the light is if you don't have the dark to compare it to.

I respect mint choco chip, I really do. But rocky road, Fray. Rocky road is where my money will be until the end of time.

You're kind of gross—and exactly the kind of person I wanted to get for this assignment.

Five-paragraph essay? Right before Thanksgiving? Your teacher has no mercy. _Full House _is worth failing a class for, anyway.

By the way, it's really, really late here. As in, I'm going to probably die tomorrow morning. But it'll be Friday, so it's okay.

* * *

><p>Jace,<p>

You're getting deep here. Seriously, I'm scared that somebody took the Jace I talked with at first and replaced him with a smarter, more likeable version. I'm not complaining, though.

You "respect" it? That's such bullshit. I think you secretly want to cheat on rocky road with mint choco chip. It's what everyone does in the end, anyway.

I'm glad I meet your (extremely high) expectations.

My teacher needs to get laid. Seriously, _seriously _laid.

I forget that you live in Paris sometimes. Seriously, that's really cool. I wanna travel all over Europe—Spain, Germany, Italy, France, the whole thing—so I think it's cool that you get to live there.

Anyway, I'll stop rambling now, because, according to the Internet, it's two in the morning over there. Seriously, dude, get some sleep.

* * *

><p>Clary,<p>

I'm up. I didn't go on my morning run (too tired) and now have half an hour to kill after showering and getting ready. I'm seriously considering a nap.

Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny, Clary Fray. You're just jealous of my amazing looks _and _my wonderful brain.

I gasped out loud. I WOULD NEVER CHEAT ON ROCKY ROAD.

I never really _said _that…

I think all single teachers need to get laid.

Traveling isn't really as glamorous as it seems. It's kind of annoying, people waking you up at five in the morning to see a bigger version of something you can see a million pictures of online. Traveling is only as amazing as you think it is if you do it your way. Wake up at 4pm when the day is calm and go walk around and feel the place, and you're really traveling. That's how my stepmom travels, but not how my dad does it, so I've never really liked traveling.

* * *

><p>Clary,<p>

Fifteen minutes have passed. A guy farted outside.

I wish you were awake to give me a witty response to that or something. I'm off to class. Have a nice day, I guess. Try not to infuriate too many people.

* * *

><p>Clary,<p>

Last email until later, I promise. But I just realized that this assignment is ending in three weeks. It's only been less than two weeks since it started, but isn't it a little bit crazy, at least, that we might not really know each other after those three weeks?

* * *

><p>Jace,<p>

Jesus Christ, dude, take a chill pill. (But I like that you've emailed me three times over the course of, like, an hour.)

No morning run?! Gasp.

Oh, yeah, because all I want in life is hear people talk about my sexy ass and lack of world knowledge.

You would, too, cheat on rocky road. Weirdo.

I want to travel that way. I mean, I do travel that way, even though my definition of "traveling" was going to Disney (Florida) for my 16th birthday. Anyway, I want to get a taste of what the place is like on my own, just like you said. I think there's nothing interesting about looking at the places with a person who's feeding you something they've memorized. I think you need to go out and explore things and find out about them by yourself, 'cause that's part of what makes traveling so exciting.

I just woke up, too, so I don't know what to say to the farting guy in the hall. Sorry to you, though, for having to witness that.

I'd rather not think about two or three weeks from now. I like getting to know you, Jace Wayland, and thinking about the future just makes everything seem and feel pointless.

* * *

><p>Clary,<p>

(There are no chill pills in France. I've checked.)

I know. The world is ending.

I think you missed the smart part in that sentence.

Listen, Fray, I don't think you understand my love for rocky road, so I'll let this misunderstanding slide.

I like your definition of traveling. If it were up to me, I'd travel that way, 'cause it doesn't feel right to go to all of these monuments and "special places" and not even know what the place is really all about.

Thank you for your condolences. I'm fairly certain that half of my brain cells died.

That is true. But sometimes you have to think about it, you know. I don't usually, but it's weird for us to be getting along and then to have to face the fact that maybe we won't even talk at all a couple of weeks from now.

* * *

><p>Jace,<p>

I'm assuming you're way done with school now. I'm in Journalism, supposed to be writing an environmental article, but I thought I'd check my email and give you a little bit of entertainment.

I'm sorry 'bout the lack of chill pills. I'd mail you some, but I'm a girl, not a sugar daddy.

Seriously, you're gonna be so out of shape and the girls are going to stop wanting to be with you and then you're gonna die of loneliness. All for missing one day of running.

I decided to disregard it for obvious reasons.

The only misunderstanding is that you think rocky road is better than mint chocolate chip, Wayland.

I agree. It's like when I see tourists in New York, and they waste so much time going to the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State that they forget that there are so many tiny places that make you _feel _something about the place you're visiting.

I'm pretty sure your brain cells dying is a regular thing.

Okay, okay, yes, the possibility that we'll become strangers after this assignment is over is a _little _strange. But people who you think are going to be there forever can become strangers in a second. It's a thing I'll never forget, and you shouldn't, either.

Why're we talking about this, anyway?

* * *

><p>Clary,<p>

Your assumptions are correct. Just got back from dinner, where a girl tried to touch my mango, if you know what I mean. It was a thrilling experience.

I'm gonna call you my sugar daddy from now on.

Oh, man. I'll live in misery.

Obvious reasons?

You think you can fight me?

This conversation's going places that are too deep for teenagers to handle. Soon enough, we'll be wondering what life is really all about and eating cheese and wine.

They grow back just as fast, and don't you forget it.

We're talking about this because you, Clary Fray, are actually a pretty cool person to talk to. It also helps that you're many, many miles away and will never damage my reputation, so yeah. But seriously, though, there aren't many people that I can talk to like I talk to you.

* * *

><p>Jace,<p>

By "thrilling experience," do you mean slightly inappropriate and 100% creepy?

I'm torn between making a joke about being a crappy sugar daddy and glaring at you, but I think the latter's winning, which would explain why I'm glaring at my screen right now.

Misery loves company, so I'm _sure _you'll come across someone desperate enough.

Let's not argue about what makes you dumb.

I can fight you and win before you can protest, jerkface.

As long as it's expensive, rare cheese and good wine… (Just kidding. We aren't fifty.)

Uh-huh. Keep tellin' yourself that, pretty boy.

Your reputation's damaged enough. I could only bring it up. Also, there are plenty of girls you can talk to. You just don't dare because of this whole "reputation" bullshit. Seriously, you don't even know what I look like. I bet that, if you knew me, you wouldn't even say hi to me. It's not that I think I'm the ugliest girl ever, but you clearly think very highly of yourself and of the people you surround yourself with, and I'm not one of them.

The point is, you only find this way of talking non-threatening because you don't know me. You don't like me, but the idea of me, and I'm okay with it either way. You're entertaining to know, but…the only reason you talk to me this way is because you can just stop one day and I won't be there to fight you about it.

* * *

><p>Sugar Daddy,<p>

She was attractive, so I'm gonna say it was the opposite.

I'm still just gonna call you my sugar daddy, as you can see.

Wow, your confidence in my future is touching.

I can't believe you think you can take me. I bet it's 'cause you're a ginger.

You're right. We're forty-nine. Fifty's near, though. Very near.

Did you just call me pretty? I usually get called devastatingly handsome, but pretty will do.

If I knew you in real life, I would talk to you. Okay, maybe not if you acted like the girls I know, 'cause they're all over me _all the time _and it's weird, but if you acted this way in real life then I'd get to know you. Or I'd want to, I think. I don't know. Maybe you're right. Maybe I don't trust people and base my social interactions on looks, and maybe that sucks.

* * *

><p>Jace,<p>

Sorry it took me four days to write back. The power went out for TWO DAYS, and then my mom decided it was a sign, so we went camping because, obviously, that's what you do when the power goes out.

I'm gonna ignore you calling me sugar daddy on account of me being a girl.

You're goin' places. Like maybe Walmart, where you can be assistant manager and find yourself an okay-lookin' girl. :P

I'm a ginger, not invincible. I base that statement completely on facts, because, hell, I could beat anybody who tried to fight me.

Oh, the dreaded fifty!

It was a sarcastic remark, you moron.

"Maybe" it sucks? I think it sucks a lot. There are so many people you're ignoring who could be great. People like me, you know, the kind of people you can talk to and they'll talk back without giving in to your looks and stupid shit. But you ignore 'em, and I think that's the worst thing about you.

It doesn't make you a bad person, though. It just makes you a person.

* * *

><p>Clary,<p>

I accept your apology, but only because I'm three days late replying. My parents were in London, so I traveled there to see them, 'cause it's been four months, and we talked and whatever and…yeah.

How was your Thanksgiving, by the way? Mine consisted of my parents announcing their divorce.

Camping sounds fun, though. Maybe?

Since when do you use your gender to make excuses for anything?

Okay-lookin'? I think I can manage fantastic, actually, so I'm aiming for the stars.

Uh-huh. We'll see, Ginger. We'll see.

We're still looking good for fifty, I think.

Are you using sarcasm to hide your love and admiration?

Okay, okay, you're right. I just suck at approaching people who could give me shit for it, you know?

* * *

><p>Jace,<p>

Nice to hear about your parents visiting, but SO not nice to hear about their divorce. I'm so sorry. :(

My Thanksgiving was…eventful. Simon and Isabelle had a fight, so I was distracted with trying to get them to talk. My mom was out of town, so I was supposed to go over to Simon's, but then Isabelle told me I couldn't because I'd be breaking some friendship bond or whatever, so I ended up going to a restaurant with my brother.

Camping was _not _fun. I have bug bites all over!

True, true.

Aim all you want, but it's all about whether you're a good shot or not.

I look amazing for fifty. You, on the other hand…have you been running?

Love and admiration are two foreign concepts to me.

I get it. I do. Confrontation and socializing. They suck. I suck at both of 'em, too, but don't make this pen pal thing some special thing in your head, and don't make me the "only girl you can talk to like this" or whatever, because I'm literally just that: a girl.

* * *

><p>Sugar Daddy,<p>

It's okay. I didn't think it'd come, because I figured they're old and would stick to their commitment, but I'm glad it did. Maybe they can be happy while they're apart. I don't know.

Did Simon and Isabelle work things out? At least you got to eat. Was it Thanksgiving-y food?

Camping's awesome. Well, I've never actually gone camping, but it sounds awesome.

You're mean, Clary Fray.

I have, indeed, been running. Soccer season starts in two and a half months, and I have to be ready if I wanna be captain.

Foreign? Well, I can kind of believe that you wouldn't know the two. I can teach you them, since I've heard I'm an admirable, loveable guy.

I know you're just a girl. I'm saying you're easy to talk to, and I haven't met a girl I can talk to like this. Can we leave it like that?

* * *

><p>Jace,<p>

Sorry about the not answering. Isabelle's in the costume department for the school play, and she was having a breakdown because she procrastinated making the costumes (she's, like, the head of the department or whatever), so I had to stay after school with her this whole week, and I kept getting home at eight. It was exhausting. So, yeah. And now there's only a week until this project ends, and I haven't talked to you about anything, and I'm sorry.

It sucks to have a broken family, even if you see the brokenness coming.

They did, as per usual. And I did!

YOU'VE NEVER GONE CAMPING?! JACE WAYLAND. WHAT.

I'm 100% mean.

Captain? Wow. Are you that good?

You forgot to mention how absolutely humble you are.

Yeah, okay. I like that you can talk to me, by the way, even if it's because you're in Paris and I'm not.

* * *

><p>SD,<p>

Yeah, there's only six days until this project ends, and I don't want it to.

Did the whole thing go okay? Did you make the costumes?

That's true, but I can't do anything about it.

I'm glad Isabelle and Simon aren't broken up. Also, I'm glad about the food.

Nope. Never. My parents aren't outdoors-y.

I'm pretty good. But also committed.

It's one of my many qualities, Clary Fray.

Come over to Paris. It's fun.

* * *

><p>Jace,<p>

Four days until this thing is over now. :( Sorry for not replying yesterday. It was the play's opening night, and I HAD to be there (insert eye roll), so I couldn't email back. But now I can! Yay!

We did make the costumes.

I guess you can't.

I'm glad to hear that you aren't going to wish my friends to break up. Also, yay, food!

I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'VE NEVER GONE CAMPING.

I hope you get the captain spot, then.

Care to show me the rest of 'em, Jace Wayland?

I wiiiiish.

* * *

><p>SD,<p>

Technically three days, since it's 6am for me now.

Was it good? The play, I mean. I'm glad that you got to make the costumes and all that.

I would never. Simon and Isabelle seem like perfectly decent people (I think).

Never ever. Not even when I was a kid.

Thanks. :)

Are you flirting with me, Clary Fray?

So do I.

* * *

><p>Jace Wayland,<p>

Two days, because I totally forgot to reply? Sorry? School has been absolutely insane. My best friend got detention, which is tragic, because he held a perfect record until a guy insulted Isabelle and Simon punched said guy in the face.

Hence the detention.

As you can see, Simon's a pretty loyal boyfriend. Izzy likes him. A lot.

By the way, the play was good! Thanks for asking!

JESUS CHRIST. HOW HAVE YOU NEVER GONE CAMPING?!

Do you not know me at all? I a) can't flirt and b) don't flirt.

Pariiiis. It's the perfect city. I am jealous.

* * *

><p>Dear SD,<p>

It's okay. I know how hectic school can be. Trust me. That's pretty heroic of Simon. Did he hurt his hand? I have a feeling he hurt his hand. Sucks that he got detention for it, though.

That's good about the play.

MY PARENTS ARE NOT OURDOORSEY PEOPLE.

I know for a fact that you're the master of seduction.

It's not that great, really. Way overrated.

* * *

><p>Jace,<p>

School sucks. I got an A+ on my history paper, though! Yaaaay!

Definitely heroic of him, but he should've thought it through. And yeah, his hand is all bruised up. How'd you know?

WEREN'T YOU EVER, LIKE, A BOY SCOUT OR SOMETHING? JESUS EFFING CHRIST.

Oh my god.

YOU TAKE THAT BACK.

* * *

><p>Dear SDClary Fray,

Today's the last day.

Congrats on the A+.

Yeah, well, he just sounds like the kind of guy who would punch another guy thinking it'd be just as badass as it is in the movies, only it's kind of painful. I bet he didn't even know how to make a good fist.

NO. WHO THE HELL IS A BOY SCOUT ANYMORE?

I'm the one who lives here, you know.

* * *

><p>Jace,<p>

It IS the last day. UGH. But we're still keeping in contact, right? I mean, I need to know if you ever take my advice and decide to go camping. Assuming you come back alive from that adventure.

Thanks!

Ugh. I hate how well you know my friends without actually knowing them. Yeah, Simon's an idiot, but I gotta love him.

SIMON WAS A BOY SCOUT WHEN HE WAS YOUNGER, OKAY?

So? What's your point?

* * *

><p>Dear SD,<p>

We're definitely staying in contact. Though I'm not gonna be able to message you until the third week of December (the end of it, anyway) because of finals. I need to be an exemplary student and all. And I would totally kick anyone's ass out in the wild.

Simon does sound like an idiot. But at least he stuck up for Izzy, right?

OF COURSE SIMON WOULD BE A BOY SCOUT.

I know the city better than you do.

(This might be the last email I send you for a while. But I'll be back. Au revoir, for now.)

* * *

><p>Jace,<p>

Good luck with finals! You're gonna kick their ugly butts.  
>Yeah, he's a good friend and a good boyfriend. I just wish he would think about what he does sometimes, because seriously.<p>

SHUT UP AND QUIT MAKING FUN OF SIMON.

Um, so? I've seen pictures.

(Alright. I'll be waiting. Adios, for now.)

* * *

><p>Jace,<p>

It's been two weeks since that last email. It's the end of the third week of December. Your finals are obviously done. Where are you?

* * *

><p>Jace,<p>

I'm kind of worried. Seriously. What happened to you?

* * *

><p>Jace,<p>

I was right about you. You're an asshole, and a liar, and you suck. Have a nice life.

* * *

><p>I'M SORRY, BUT THE ACCOUNT YOU'VE BEEN TRYING TO EMAIL IS NO LONGER ACTIVE.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Sooo, yeah. Let me know what you think! xo<em>


	2. Chapter 1

_Here's the actual first chapter! Thanks to Katwood5 for beta'ing. :) I hope you like it!_

* * *

><p>When a boy confesses love to you, I think there are usually two kinds of reactions. You can either a) smile and blush and say you love him and maybe even share a kiss, or b) run and hide and hope he does not find you.<p>

Now, don't get too excited. No one told _me _they loved me, because that would mean that the world is ending. I'm not the one who gets the flowers and the boys and the presents and the puppy eyes from boys who are pretty much strangers.

Nope. That goes to my friend, Isabelle Lightwood.

Simon told Isabelle he loved her between lunch and sixth period, and she told me it sort of went like _Iloveyoualotpleasedonotkillmeokaybye_, because he didn't take a breath while he said it. She was confused, though, because there was noise all around them and he was panting as he spoke, so she might have mixed up a few words here and there.

Isabelle Lightwood did not smile and blush and say she loved him back, and she did not kiss him. But she also didn't run and hide.

No, Isabelle Lightwood just stared as he ran off—and then proceeded to show up two minutes late to class.

This is how I know about it: I sent her a text while looking up at the teacher to make sure he didn't find out about my texting, and then I glanced back at her. She told me everything: Simon, my best friend, the boy with the massive comic book collection who loves video games more than he loves porn, is in love with Isabelle. Not that I didn't already know that, but still. Shocking that he had the balls to say it to her.

When the bell rings to go to seventh period, which, unfortunately, the three of us share, I walk up to Isabelle's seat (which isn't a feat, since she sits right next to me) and raise an eyebrow questioningly. When she says nothing, I say, "Well?" and start tapping my foot as a sign of impatience.

She shoves the rest of her books into her bag, missing slightly, which she notices when she sees the corners of her three books sticking out. She attempts to do it once as she gives me a look of annoyance. "I told you already."

"What are you gonna say to him?"

"I don't know."

"We see him in, like, two minutes."

"I am _perfectly _aware of that, Clary."

"Well, you need to come up with something," I reply. I know he'll feel like shit if she doesn't.

"I know!" She stands up quickly. "I _know_, Clary. Jesus, you're like the annoying little sister I never had today."

It hurts, and she knows it. I've barely spoken to her all day—yay, period cramps!—and, even as I do now, I'm just looking out for both of them. She flashes me an apologetic look.

"Yeah, yeah." I wave her off. "I'll try not to be your annoying little sister anymore and hurry off to class."

"Which we have together."

"Glad you finally acknowledged that."

"Don't be mad," Izzy says, letting out a sigh. "I'm just stressed and tired, and I don't know what to do about Simon."

"Do you love him?"

"I don't know," she admits. "Yes. We've been dating for four months now, but I guess I'm just scared. He's a great guy, though."

"He is."

"I don't know whether I'm ready to make that decision. To tell him I love him and move this relationship to a whole new level."

"So tell him that," I say kindly. "Simon will give you time. Hell, he'll give you all the time in the world. Just talk to him."

She chews on her lip and hovers outside the classroom, as if stepping in automatically means facing Simon. I don't know if the nerves prompted him to go to the nurse for the rest of the day, but I don't dare check.

"Fine," she sighs, making her way in with me.

He's there, though he looks like he wants to throw up. He sits in the back, as we three usually do, and is looking sideways frantically.

I feel bad. He finally worked up the courage to tell Izzy, and now it's driving him crazy to not know. I don't think I could ever tell a guy that I like him, let alone love him. I think it would drive me crazier than it's driving him right now, actually.

"Hey," I say casually, as if I don't know about what happened between the two of them. "You okay? You kind of look sick."

"Do I?" he asks, seeming a little nervous. "I'm really tired."

"We need to talk, Simon," says Isabelle.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Want to give me a ride?"

"Okay."

The teacher claps her hands and tells us to sit down with an imperative tone. I take out my notebook and pencil, waiting for the usual information about US History to make its way into my ears, but instead the teacher waits. And waits. And does not speak.

So I snap my head up, and I see a breathtakingly gorgeous boy in front of the classroom, one that is surely making every girl want to die of happiness (or maybe mortification, considering how they look today) and making Isabelle possibly reassess her talk with Simon.

"This is Jace. He's a senior," the teacher says. "He just moved here from Paris."

The class nods, giving the teacher permission to continue. "He's new, obviously, but I'm sure that there are already plenty of people showing him around. I'll skip the getting to know you part, as I know you people hate that. Go sit wherever you want."

The thing about his name is that I have it memorized, engrained in the deepest parts of my brain. That name was basically all that came out of my mouth at the end of fall and start of winter, but it's impossible that this is the person it belongs to. Impossible.

There are only two seats available. There is one near the front, where you can basically feel the teacher's sweat, and there is one in front of me. I think we all know which one he picks, and he kind of ignores us as he does.

Well, he gives Izzy a quick once-over, but that's about it. I think she looks partly offended and partly flattered.

"Now, then, let's start class, shall we?"

* * *

><p>The thing about new kids is that everyone is particularly interested in them if they start school after the second semester is well underway.<p>

For example: it is January 30th, and there is a new boy. There are people whispering and girls blushing with excitement, and I _know _they're talking about him.

So far, he's kind of quiet, winking at girls who look at him and giggle and blush when he does so as well. It's kind of annoying to watch, really, because they are so obvious it hurts me. Like, if they wanted to tattoo I LOVE THE NEW GUY on their foreheads, it wouldn't change a thing.

Isabelle catches up with me at the end of the day, once she's done stuffing her books in her locker and slamming its door in the dramatic way she's done since we were eleven. "So I've heard things about this new guy."

Even though I'm not interested, and even though I know more than she thinks I do, I decide to humor her. "What've you heard?"

"No one really knows where he's from, but he knows seven languages, plays several instruments, has more experience than a professional stripper, and can sweet talk a girl like it's nobody's business. Oh, and his parents aren't together."

I try to suppress the urge to call her out on her bullshit, but I'm not so good at holding back sometimes. "You do realize this is complete and utter shit, right?"

"It might not be," she insists. "I mean, seriously, aren't you at least a little bit interested in him? He's hot."

"He could be a serial killer." _But he's not. _

"Do you have proof?"

Before she can answer, I do so for her. "No. Therefore, you can't tell me he's not a serial killer, and my point still stands."

She sighs as if her life were the most exhausting thing in the whole entire world. "You, Clary Fray, are impossible."

"That I am."

Simon joins us as we make our way to his crappy car. "What's up?"

"Your girlfriend has found a new man."

"Have you, now?"

"We're just talking about the new guy," Isabelle says.

"We should stop talking about him," I mutter.

"Why don't you like him?"

"It's complicated."

"Can't be _that _complicated."

"Okay, guys," Simon cuts in. "Stop arguing. Clary, I'm giving you a ride, right?"

"Yep." I climb into his car as soon as he unlocks in. "Jon's sick, which is why he missed school today."

We don't say anything. Well, _they _do. Isabelle and Simon talk about a lot of things: the new guy, what they're going to do on Friday, whether or not to bring lunch to school tomorrow or whatever. I zone out, wondering whether or not I should tell them, but the mere thought of it makes my heart race and my mind spin, and I know that I can't do it.

Because Jace Wayland is here.

* * *

><p>AP US History is slow the next day. Jace sits down in front of me, and I wonder if he knows. If he remembers. I never sent him a picture of what I look like—it was part of the anonymity of the project—but I wonder if he remembers that I'm a junior, and that I have red hair, and that I'm taking AP US History.<p>

I decide to tell Izzy. I mean, why not? I have to tell _someone_. People are still buzzing about the fact that he's new, and a few girls are checking him out as I pull out a piece of paper and write down what I have to say to her.

_I have to tell you something about the new guy. _

I pass it over to her, praying the teacher doesn't turn around. I watch as Izzy reads the message and writes something before passing it back to me.

_What is it?! _

I stifle a laugh before realizing what I'm gonna tell her.

_He's _the _Jace Wayland. Paris. Pen pal. You know. _

I pass it back to her and hold my breath. Her eyes widen and she sucks in a breath, and Jace turns his head ever-so-slightly, only to see her covering her mouth to keep from gasping. She's looking at me.

_Are you serious? _she mouths.

I nod, curls bouncing. "I wanted to tell you before," I whisper, "but I was just in shock and didn't know how to say it."

"Holy _shit_."

"Ladies," the teacher says, clearing her throat. "Care to share what's so interesting that it has you talking in class?"

My cheeks turn the color of my hair as I shake my head. "Sorry."

Because I'm a good student, she lets it go. I spend the rest of class doodling and pretending that I can't feel Jace's presence, that I'm not aware of every little thing he does, of every breath he takes.

The bell rings, and I'm ready to bolt, but the teacher says, "Jace, Clarissa, could you stay behind for a moment?" and I want to die.

"What class do you have next?" she asks us.

"AP English," I tell her.

"Free period," Jace says. "They're still working out my schedule."

"Clarissa, I'll send your teacher an email. I need to talk to both of you."

I can't look at him. I don't even know what to panic about. I'm freaking out because he's here, beside me, the boy I spent hours thinking about only four months ago, the boy who lived in Paris and has never camped and whose dad and stepmom got divorced. I'm freaking out because I don't know if I did something wrong, and I don't know what to do.

"Done," she says, closing her laptop's lid once she sends the email. "Sit down."

I'm fairly sure I'm shaking as I sit down. Jace takes the seat next to mine, dropping his bag on the floor. It doesn't make a sound; he probably only has notebooks in it.

"Clarissa," she says, and I wish she wouldn't say my name, "you're one of the smartest kids in class. Responsible, too, which is why I chose you."

"To do what?" I ask.

"I was checking the material from Jace's class, and it seems that he's a couple of chapters behind. He didn't cover some of the things we did, so I was wondering if you could tutor him, catch him up on the details we've learned."

Before I can stop myself, the words stumble out of my mouth. "Why me?"

"You don't have to do it," the teacher says. "I just thought you would."

"I'll do it," I say, hating myself for it. I hope this pays off when it's time to ask for recommendation letters in the fall. "Can you give me the information for his lesson plans, please?"

"Definitely." She hands me a binder. "Everything's there. Thank you so much, Clary."

I freeze when she mentions my nickname. Teachers call me Clary all the time, but it's the fact that she says it when he's there. I don't want him to know.

I set the binder down on my desk. "Um, when should we start?"

"Now would be good," she says to me. "Did you bring your book?"

I nod. "Of course."

She hands me a library pass. "Let me know how much you cover by tomorrow. After today, you'll have to do this after school."

"Got it," I tell her. "I'll report back tomorrow."

"Thank you."

I pick up my bag from the floor and the binder from my desk. Jace and I walk to the library together, neither one of us saying anything. I remember how much I longed for this—well, not _this_, but for a chance to meet him in person and say all the things I kept bottled up inside, like _I think you're amazing _or _I know you're not okay with half of the things in your life, and I want to be one of the things you're okay with_. I wanted to have so many conversations with him in person, but the last thing I want is to make eye contact right now.

The librarian takes the pass from my outstretched hand. We sit in the back, where it's quieter.

"We should probably work out a schedule first," I say, setting the binder down. "Since it's gonna take some after school work."

"Do you know when soccer tryouts are? I wanna make the team, but—"

"I'll find out," I say, pulling out my phone and calling Jon, who is, tragically, still sick.

"Hey, little sis."

"When are the soccer tryouts?"

"Didn't peg you as the athletic type."

"Shut up and tell me, you moron."

"What a nice way to treat your sick brother."

"_Jon_."

"Fine. They're in two days," he says, sighing. "Why do you wanna know, anyway?"

"There's a new guy, and I'm tutoring him, and it's complicated. Go back to sleep. Oh," I add, "and order pizza, will you?"

My brother makes a noise of agreement laced with exhaustion and hangs up.

"They're in two days. Thursday," I clarify, taking out my planner. "They're from three to five, I think."

"Thanks for finding out for me." He gives me a devastatingly cute smile. He has dimples and everything, and it makes me want to die. It's the kind of smile that charms girls and makes them want to do reckless things, and I hate that he's giving it to me right now. It lasts for only a second—a show of gratitude—but it's etched in my brain forever. There's no way I will ever forget that smile.

"No problem."

"So when should we do this?"

"I can't stay today," I say, managing to sound apologetic. "My friend's giving me a ride, and he also has to drop off his girlfriend, so I can't make them stay."

"I could give you a ride."

"You drive?"

"Well, yeah."

"Didn't you just move here, though?"

"Yeah, well, my parents are in the middle of fighting for custody, so this is all bribery."

"Holy crap," I mutter, then blush. Damn it. "Okay, thanks. So we'll stay until four today?"

"Sounds good."

We make a plan. Today it's until four, and Friday until five again. We'll figure out the rest later.

But then it hits me: I'm at the library, tutoring Jace Wayland, and I think he knows who I am, and I _definitely _know who he is, but I can't even try talking to him. I don't know how to bring any of it up. I can't casually mention the emails—I just _can't_—and I don't know what to do.

"Okay, give me a sec," I tell him, taking out my notebook and flipping through the binder. I have the notes for everything, basically, but I feel unprepared and pressured, so I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

"You okay?" Jace asks.

"Fine," I mumble. "It's just a lot to cover, and I don't even know how to teach."

"How about I read a lesson and then we discuss it and stuff?" he asks, and he's sitting so close to me that I can't breathe. "Sound good?"

"Sure." I slide my book over to him and give him the number of the first chapter and lesson. "Let me know when you're done, then."

I look for my notes and try not to freak out. The bell rings, and I know Simon and Izzy are gonna be looking for me.

I decide to call Isabelle. "Hello?" she asks. "Clary?"

"In the library," I say. "I'm, uh, not riding home with you guys today."

"I'm going to the library."

"No—"

"Going."

"_Lightwood_."

"_Fray_."

I hang up, knowing there's no use. "Sorry," I say to him. "I should be quiet. You're, um, reading and all that."

"I don't mind. The quietness sort of distracts me more, actually."

"Good to know, because my friend's loud, and she's coming."

"What?"

But there she is, before I can answer his question: Isabelle Lightwood, the only girl who comes to school wearing stupidly high heels and dresses that are one centimeter away from violating the dress code. My best friend. I want to run with her as soon as she comes in, but she comes looking for answers.

"I'll, uh, be right back. Finish the lesson."

"Yes, ma'am."

He is going to kill me.

"Clary—"

"Come on," I say, walking over to the other side of the library, hiding between the stacks of books that haven't been categorized yet, the new arrivals.

"He's it?" Her eyes are perpetually wide.

"Yeah," I mumble.

"What're you doing with him?"

"Tutoring him. Teacher's orders."

"You're kidding, right?"

"I wish."

"He's hot."

"Isabelle!" My cheeks are on fire. "Seriously!"

"Nice butt, too."

"Go get your boyfriend and tell him I'll see him tomorrow."

Izzy hesitates. "Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine."

"You're freaking out."

"Go, Isabelle."

"I'll call you later."

"Okay."

"Be careful."

"Got it."

"Wait." She narrows her eyes at me. "Who's giving you a ride?"

"Um."

"Clarissa Adele Fray," she says. "Tell me that boy is not giving you a ride."

"Isabelle—"

"Clary!"

"Go home."

"But—"

"I can handle it."

"Oh, I have no doubt that you can. But you shouldn't have to."

"Go," I tell her, glaring until she holds her hands up in surrender and backs away.

I walk back to my table, wanting to die. "Sorry," I tell him. "She's, uh, mad at me."

"Why?"

"I lied to her. Accidentally."

"Accidentally?"

"Well, I didn't _mean _to lie. It wasn't even technically lying."

"What was it, then?"

"Withholding information."

"Lying by omission?"

"Lying is such a horrible term," I say, but he's right. I lied to her. I lied to her about a lot of things, but that's not even what she's mad at me for. "There's more to it than the lies, anyway."

"Care to enlighten me?"

"No."

"No?"

"Did you finish the lesson?"

"Um."

"That's what I thought."

She's mad at me because, even though he stopped talking to me, even though he broke his promise, I went back to him.

"Are you mad at _me _or something?"

I shoot daggers at him. "Just finish the lesson."

"Clary."

"Jace."

"Clary."

"Finish the lesson already," I snap. I sigh, shaking my head. "Sorry, I just—this whole fight with my friend—I don't know."

"Anything I can help with?"

"Trust me, no." I laugh nervously. "You can help by finishing the lesson."

"You're _just _like a teacher."

"That's sort of the point."

"Fine, I'll read the lesson," he says grudgingly, but he's smiling.

* * *

><p><em>I hope you like it! So far, my plan is to upload a chapter per week, so yeah. :) Let me know what you think so far! See you next week, when I figure out which day I'll actually be posting stuff (probably either on Sundays or Fridays). xo<em>


	3. Chapter 2

_Hi, lovely people! First of all, thank you so very much for your reviews! They all made me smile. :) Secondly, I've figured out an update schedule for this. I'll be updating once during the weekend and once during the week (probably on Wednesdays). Howeeeever, because this is a really stressful year (yay, college applications!), I might not always be punctual, so I apologize in advance. This was supposed to be up tomorrow, but I'm currently procrastinating and figured that doing this would be "productive." So there you go. Big thanks to Katwood5 for beta'ing! :D _

* * *

><p>We finish at exactly 4:10. We covered four lessons today, which means that we have about twelve to go. I don't let the thought depress me; I'm earning major points with my teacher, and the company isn't half bad. Sure, there are lots of bad memories that cross my mind when I think of Jace, lots of things that remind me that I'm stupid and know nothing about anything, but so what?<p>

His car's fairly nice, but this is coming from a girl who doesn't know much about cars. I choose to ride shotgun, letting my bag drop between my feet.

We don't say anything on the way to my house. I don't think we have to. How many Clary Frays does he think there are in New York? I know that there can only be one Jace Wayland in Paris, especially one whose parents are currently getting divorced and who plays soccer and has a nice butt and is blonde. It's him; I know it in the deepest parts of my heart.

I want to bring it up. I want to ask him why he broke his promise. I remember when he told me that he didn't want it to end, that he wanted it to last forever. I remember feeling like I was floating.

And I remember when it all came crashing down.

I don't know what to do with my hands. It's awkward, and I feel like I should say something, but I can't. My tongue is tied and I am a mess.

"Are you okay? You haven't said anything," Jace says, breaking the silence.

"Well, you're on the right path, if that's what you mean."

"That's not what I mean."

"I'm fine." _Why do you care? _I want to ask.

"You don't get carsick, do you?"

"No."

"Good. If you do, let me know."

"I'm just tired," I tell him, and it comes out more snappy then I meant it to, but I'm cranky and he wants to know everything, and I don't want him to know a damn thing.

My phone rings. Izzy. "Fuck," I whisper, and pick up. "Hey."

"You home yet?"

"On my way. Look, I'll text you."

"You're never gonna text me. The last thing you wanna do is talk about this."

"I haven't wanted to talk about it for two months, and I'm not gonna start now."

"But—"

"I'll call you later, okay?"

"Do not—"

I hang up, taking a deep breath. "Sorry, she's—"

"I know," he says. _Do you? _"What happened two months ago, anyway?" He tries to sound casual, but he's failing. I wonder if he can feel the _thumpthumpthumpthump_ of my heart, the way it won't slow down.

"Something stupid," I tell him. "It's hardly worth talking about, but my life is boring and she lives for drama, so she's been trying to get me to spill the beans ever since. And it's been worse lately, so yeah."

"That sounds awful," Jace says, and I want to tell him to stop pretending. It's all because of him, after all. But, then again, I'm also pretending. We're both going to play this game until one of us loses, and I'm not a loser. I made it damn clear to him two and a half months ago, and I'm going to make it clear again.

"It is. But I can handle her. I can handle a lot of things," I say.

"So you can."

"It's the yellow house."

"What?"

"The yellow house," I say, pointing to it, unbuckling my seatbelt already. "Anyway, thanks for the ride."

He's silent. And then: "Clary?"

But I'm out the door by the time he manages to say anything, and I keep walking. "Bye, Jace."

* * *

><p>I'm planning Jace's lesson when Isabelle calls me, and I know she's expecting an explanation before I pick up. "Hello?"<p>

"Clary." She says my name like a sigh. "I'm coming over, okay?"

"But I have work," I protest. I do—planning his lesson, writing an essay for AP English, doing a worksheet for math, physics homework—but that isn't the reason I'm asking her to stay home.

"I'll help."

"Izzy, please."

"Clary, we need to talk."

"I'm fine."

"Well, I'm not," Isabelle snaps.

"Why not?" I frown, wondering if I misread the whole thing, if maybe she's calling me to discuss _her _problems.

"I'm on my way," is her reply, as if she didn't hear what I said. I hang up and hurry to finish the lesson plan.

The doorbell rings fifteen minutes later. She must've raced here. I open the door for her and find her breathless, panting.

"Hey."

"Hi."

"Come in, I guess." I open the door more. "Want some water?"

"Please."

Quietly, I pour her some water in a plastic cup and hand it to her. I don't want to talk about what she wants to talk about. I _can't_. The truth of it has been buried inside me for so long that letting it all out might choke me. I might start crying. Might never stop.

She follows my lead as I go up the stairs and into my room. She closes the door behind me, locking it, and we both lie down on my bed.

"Clary," she tells me, "has he said anything to you yet?"

I shake my head. Clear my throat. "No."

"He knows, though." It's not a question.

"I think so." Before she can rant about how much she _hates _him, I speak up. "To be fair, we're both ignoring it. I don't know. I'm not saying it hurts any less—hell, it might even hurt more—but I don't want you to go and have a talk with him or whatever. I'm _fine_."

"All I know is that he hurt you. Badly."

"He's just a boy."

"You say that, but you didn't see yourself." She sets down the cup on my nightstand and turns to me, the mattress creaking as she moves. "He was all you talked about. Sure, we were stuck with shitty partners and you weren't, but you talked about him like you knew him, and from the things you told us, it seemed like you two were close." She shakes her head. "What I don't get is how you can go from being friends with someone to completely ignoring each other in a matter of a couple of days."

"Well, it happens." I don't mean to snap at her, but I can't help it. I don't want to hear about what she thinks or doesn't think. I don't want to hear _anything _right now, just the sound of music as I work. Do something. Make something out of this stupid as hell situation. "Can we just talk about him like the new guy and _not _like he's the Jace I knew?"

"Are you giving me permission to talk about how hot he is?"

"Yes, Izzy," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Because he is. Like, _damn_."

"Says the girl with a boyfriend."

"Simon thinks he has a sexy ass, too."

"Oh god."

"Tell me when to stop talking."

"You should've never started in the first place."

She smacks me with one of my small pillows.

We talk for the rest of the afternoon—we talk about class and boys and music and movies, and I get lost in the conversation. Sometimes, though, my brain wanders off, and I think of him. Of the nights I spent trying to come up with clever replies to his questions. Of the shitty feeling in the pit of my stomach when I couldn't reply to some of his messages for days. I felt like I was going to die of humiliation, but he was there, always, to pick me back up.

And then he stopped. Because of course a guy like that did not want to be friends with a girl like me. They always break their promises; I should've seen it coming.

Isabelle leaves before dinner, and I thank whoever is up there listening that I'm a fast writer. In half an hour, I have the first draft of my English essay written, and my physics homework is done by seven. I smell the food cooking downstairs and hear the faint sound of voices, but I shrug and continue listening to music and doing homework.

There's a loud knock on my door, making my head snap up just in time to see Jon standing there. "Hey," he says. "We have guests, and dinner's ready."

"Guests?"

"New neighbors."

"When did they move in?"

"I guess the old ones rented the house while we were on vacation. I don't know." He shrugs. "Coming?"

I nod, and there's a feeling coursing through my veins, one of dread and anxiety, but I can't quite pinpoint the reason behind it. "I'll be there in a sec. Let me finish this math problem."

"I'll tell Mom you'll be down soon."

As soon as Jon's out of earshot, I call Isabelle. My hands are shaking and I'm hoping—no, I'm _praying_—that the feeling is just a feeling, that it's meaningless and dumb.

"What's up?"

"Isabelle, did you see anyone on your way out?"

"What do you mean?"

"Apparently, we have new neighbors."

"Cool." There's a pause as the information reaches her. "Wait a second—you don't think—"

"I don't _know_." I curse myself for keeping my blinds shut all the time. "I'll let you know?"

"How do you know you have new neighbors?"

"My brother announced this at the same time he told us they're here for dinner."

"Text me."

"Will do."

I hang up and quickly finish the math problem. On my way out, I check my reflection in the mirror. I don't look half bad—not any different than usual, except a little more tired. I make my way down the stairs, hands shoved in my hoodie pockets.

And it shouldn't hit me so damn hard.

Because there he is, standing like he doesn't want to be here, with his hands in his pockets and his dad by his side. My own dad is talking to him about something, and Jon and Jace are stuck in that conversation. I want the earth to swallow me up, and I reach for my phone as I make my way to the kitchen.

"Clary!"

I freeze.

And turn.

My dad is smiling at me, completely oblivious. He's not really my actual dad; I don't have his last name or his brown hair or his personality, but he's been married to my mom since I was five years old.

"Yeah?" I meet his eyes, purposefully avoiding Jace's.

"Come here. I want you to meet the neighbors."

My legs are moving toward him, but I'm screaming at them to move in the opposite direction. I can't text Izzy now, so I shove my hands back in my pockets and force myself to smile at Jace's dad and Jace and Jon and my dad.

"This is Michael," he says to me. "And this is his son, Jace."

"I know," I say. "We met earlier in school." I smile at Michael Wayland. "Nice to meet you."

"You too, Clary." He gives me a kind smile, and I don't see the person Jace wrote to me about, the one who is invested in work and arguing with his wife all the time.

"I'm gonna go help Mom," I tell Luke.

"Sure thing," he says.

I smile at Michael and avoid Jace, turning around and sending Isabelle the text—the _it's Jace Wayland and I want to die _text—before entering the kitchen.

"Hey, sweetie," Mom says, smiling at me as she prepares the salad. "How are you?"

"Fine," I mumble, because she doesn't know about Jace and she wouldn't want to see him around if she did. As convenient as that would be, Michael and Dad seem to be getting along, so I swallow my tongue and force myself to smile. "Need any help?"

"Call the boys and tell 'em to take the plates to the table."

"Our boys or, uh, Jace and Jon?" _Don'tblushdon'tblush._

"Jace and Jon. Jace offered to help earlier," is her explanation for making the guests help out, and I take it. I make my way back out, cheeks still warm, and approach the two guys, who have now separated themselves from Michael and Luke and are talking separately.

"Mom wants both of you in the kitchen," I tell them, mostly focusing my gaze on Jon. "Said you offered to help set up the table with the food or whatever."

They follow me back in, and I get a reply from Isabelle as we walk. _Oh my god, tell me you're kicking him out._

I roll my eyes, suppress a smile, and reply, _I wish. Nah, he's sticking around for dinner with his dad. Say you can join?_

_Simon can_, is her quick response. _He's near your house and home alone until Thursday. Call him?_

I text him, asking him if he could please, please, _please _save me from dinner with the new neighbors.

_On my way_, he texts, and I've never loved Simon more.

"Hey, Mom," I tell her, walking over to her. "Can Simon come over for dinner? His mom's outta town until Thursday."

"Sure. You know I can't say no to Simon," she says, giving me a smile. "When'll he be here?"

"Two minutes."

"There's an extra place setting. He's not sleeping over, though." She points a knife at me, which is kind of threatening but also mildly hilarious. "That boy is hell to wake up."

"Yeah, yeah." I'm smiling. "I'll wait for him outside."

I almost forget that I want him here for a reason—to keep me distracted from the sad reality that I, Clary Fray, am an idiot.

Outside, the air's cold; the front porch is covered with snow, and, despite my sweater and coat, I'm freezing. I wait for him, though, careful not to sit on anything in fear of my sweats dampening.

"Hey," Simon says, snapping me out of it. Maybe it's the cold, or the feeling that I'm gonna be sick, or the comfort that he brings, but I hug him so tightly that I'm scared to let go, and I feel like somebody's squeezing my chest, and it hurts.

"I'm freezing."

"Let's go inside."

I shake my head against his chest. "I don't wanna go in."

"Are you crying?"

"No." But I want to. I feel like an idiot, crying about a boy who never gave me nearly enough time, but I can't help it. I feel like I'm going to lose it if I see him again, because he was on the other side of the world, and now he's everywhere—in my school and in my house and next door and taking up my time.

"Hey." Simon's voice is gentle. "Are you okay?"

"I'm tired."

He drapes an arm over my shoulder. "I'll do your homework tonight. Y'know, as a thanks for the food."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I know you're stressed. I can tell. It may not be because of school, but going to sleep early will help."

I sniffle. "Thanks."

"Let's go."

We make our way back in, his arms still draped around me, holding me tight. He lets go by the door, when we stop by to take off our coats.

"Izzy told me," Simon says, as if he can see the _how did you know about Jace? _written on my forehead. "We'll talk later, though," he whispers, and I nod.

Simon greets my family and introduces himself to Jace and Mr. Wayland, who make small talk with him. I head back into the kitchen, and my mom is making the dressing for the salad.

"Do you feel better now that Simon's here?" she asks me.

"I didn't feel bad before," I lie.

"You felt uncomfortable. I can tell."

"I'm just tired. He's helping me out with homework after dinner."

"That's nice of him," Mom tells me. "But it doesn't surprise me."

I take the salad and place it on the dinner table. Mom is out before I can pull out my phone to tell Isabelle her boyfriend's here, announcing that dinner's ready and we should eat. I sit in between Jace and Simon—which, believe me, I am _not _happy about—and my brother next to Jace.

We start eating, and my parents easily begin a conversation with Jace. The four of us eat quietly. I wonder if I can make it through this dinner without looking at him, but then he asks me to pass him the salt and his thumb grazes mine while he takes it from me and I know, I _know_, that this whole thing is going to be the most impossible situation in my entire life.

Jace's dad starts talking about Paris, about how they left Jace there because they hated for him to move around and he loved Paris and it was a great school, the one he went to, and how they hated to pull him out so quickly, especially when he was having the time of his life there. I don't wanna hear it—any of it—so I focus on my food and the way it tastes, but I'm not even hungry anymore.

Somehow, Jace has joined the conversation. All eyes are on him, including mine, and he shrugs. "I liked Paris, but I missed home." I swear his eyes are on me for a split second before he turns to his food, and I look down.

He can't possibly be here because of me.

No, he's here because his parents are getting divorced, and his dad's bribing him with seriously awesome stuff (he got a car, for Christ's sake!), and he's used to New York.

I find myself horrified at how much I want him to be here because of me. At how I'm clinging to the notion of him being sorry and me being the way I used to be with him, even though I don't want to be. I want to harden my heart and turn myself to steel when it comes to him, but he makes me feel like I'm falling apart.

When we finish with dinner, our parents go into the living room to talk. Simon, Jace, Jon and I go upstairs, but my brother and my new neighbor go left and Simon and I go right.

"Loud music?"

"Not too loud," I tell him. "You need to do homework."

"Ah, you're holding me to that."

"Yep."

He clicks play on my Spotify playlist, and one of my favorites starts playing. I smile as he sits on my desk and revises my English essay, which I'm too tired to look at.  
><em><br>_"So," Simon says, "can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why haven't you gone all _you _on him?"

"All me?"

"Clary," he says, like I'm supposed to get it. "You've never held back. You've always given people shit, and that's one of the reasons I love you so much. So why aren't you giving him shit for doing this to you?"

I shrug. "Because he's not worth it."

"But you care."

"I can't _not _care."

"Talk to him about it sometime," Simon tells me. "He needs to know how you feel."

"Can we not do this?" I feel a headache coming on and stand up, hoping my Advil bottle is still here and that my brother hasn't taken them. "Izzy gave me a whole speech about it."

"As she should've—what're you looking for, anyway?"

"Advil."

"Who has them if you don't?"

"Jon." I sigh. "I'll go get 'em."

"Sure?"

I shrug again and make my way out of my room and into Jon's, opening the door before asking. Jon and Jace are playing videogames—big surprise there.

"What do you want, Clary?" Guns go off. I roll my eyes.

"My Advil, you dumbass. I have a headache."

"Check my desk."

"You mean the one covered in your shit?"

"The one and only."

"I hate you."

I find them eventually, getting out of there before I have to meet Jace's eyes or something. I don't know what it is, but I feel like I'm okay if I don't look at him. His presence isn't that bad if I can ignore him. It's the awareness of him being there that makes me feel like I will crumble on the spot.

I take two of my pills and shove them in the first drawer of my nightstand. "You about done?"

"About to print. Anything else?"

"I finished everything. Thanks."

"I'm leaving, then," Simon says, standing up. "Think about what I said, okay?"

"I will."

I give him a quick hug and a muttered _thank you _and watch as he walks out my door. I get up, finish the only math problem I left unanswered, and stuff everything in my bag.

I can't sleep with Jace so close to me. He's only a couple of feet away, and I feel like I want to hold every breath I take. I don't know what I'm waiting for—I'm consciously aware that I shouldn't be waiting for anything, after all, and waiting is just a waste of my time. I shouldn't be intimidated by him being so close.

But I hate irresolution.

I take out my sketchbook, hoping to do some doodling, but the sound of Jace's laughter carries over to my room, and I know I can't be wallowing in my misery while the guy I sort of had feelings for during the fall/winter of my junior year of high school is having fun. Call me crazy and selfish and a self-centered bitch, but I can't be here and feel like I want to die because I fell for it, for all of his words, however good or bad they seemed to be, when he clearly feels no remorse at all.

I get my headphones and my iPod, hoping that music will help, as it always had. But even when the sound of my favorite artists reaches my ears, I can't calm down, can't seem to stop feeling jumpy and shaky and like I'm going to throw up. I want to hate him—I desperately want to hate him, because he made me wonder what was wrong with me for so long, because he was the first guy I liked enough to tell him shit that I didn't have to think about, because he was the first guy I thought of as somebody reachable, someone who seemed perfectly human and made for somebody like me—but I can't hate him. I can only hate myself for feeling entitled to all of that.

I don't know if he's left yet, and I'm itching to find out. The weight of everything—of him being _the _Jace Wayland, of him living next door to me, of everything happening so fast that I feel the universe might burst—is on my shoulders. I know there's one way to find out, and I yank the curtains apart to check if I'm somehow facing his room, if there's anyone there.

But there's only darkness—they're not there yet, and I don't know if my room is the one facing his, but I bring the curtains back together. I don't want to know. The only thing I want in all of this is to successfully tutor him, feel absolutely nothing for him, and hopefully see him no more than thrice a week, because I feel like that's my limit.

By the sound of the voices downstairs, though, I feel the impossibility of it in my heart already.

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think! See you on Wednesday. xo <em>


	4. Chapter 3

_Heeey, guys! Sorry about this being a day late. I've had the most hectic week (two exams, SAT review, magazine stuff, college essays, homework, and a sick mom = overwhelming), which is why this is up today (though I almost forgot). Anyway, thanks to Katwood5, as always, for being the lovely and wonderful beta that she is. Thanks to everyone who has read/reviewed/added this to any of their alerts. You're all really wonderful. :)  
><em>  
><em>I hope you enjoy this chapter!<em>

* * *

><p>The thing about Jace Wayland is that it's impossible not to like him.<p>

You might think that it is, that just ignoring him will do the trick, but Jace Wayland is everywhere. He's constantly proving to others (and to you) that he's smart, and can charm the shit out of everyone, and has the same sense of humor you do, and can play sports, and can joke around and make conversation even when it seems like you have nothing in common.

It's annoying. I hate how impossible it is to stay away from him.

My brother, though, becomes his sort of friend instantly, telling Jace that he should _definitely _try out for the soccer team—as if Jace was planning not to—and should come practice at our house.

I want to protest, but I can't. He gives me a ride from school after tutoring, and, on the day of tryouts, he comes over for dinner.

I _hate _being his neighbor. I hate that he's become a constant in the matter of three days, that he's taking over my life and making me feel like a stranger in my own home, like I can't come out of my room because he will be there, and then I'll lose my cool and start asking him why.

He was the one who said that we should keep in contact. It wasn't me, because I suck at keeping in contact with people and didn't want to let him down. But he told me that he thought I was great, and that he could talk to me in such a natural way that it was basically fate, and so he told me to stay in touch and write to him.

So I was thrilled when he wrote first. I mean, like, _really _happy, because at that point he'd already charmed me with his sense of humor and nonchalance and way to handle things. He had his flaws, which I kept pointing out, but there was something magical about him, something that made me want to listen to him talk all day long.

But then he stopped. It was just like that. I never saw it coming.

After five days went by, I got kind of worried. I wrote him an email to see if he was okay, and he didn't reply to that, either. I wanted to feel something familiar and quick, like a passing disappointment, but I felt like I was an idiot, like I should've seen it coming, like guys like him don't look at girls like me and don't even talk to them, so why should I be the exception? I felt like he had let me down in a big way, because it meant that we wouldn't ever talk again.

I still hoped that an email would come. I had alerts on my phone and checked my email obsessively, because he'd become a friend. A very attractive, smart, funny friend. Whatever.

And now I don't know what to do. I'm sitting on the front porch, sketching the trees on the other side of the road, but I can't focus. The boys are playing soccer, and I'm trying too hard to ignore them. I listen to my music like it's the most fascinating thing I've ever heard, but I can't grasp the lyrics or learn the beat, and the sketch is one of the shittiest ones I've done in my life.

I sigh, frustrated, and take a sip of my lemonade. If only I could talk to him. I'm over this whole pretend game, over ignoring the fact that there's a huge weight in my chest that I'm dying to set free.

But the problem is that now that I want to talk to him, I can't. He can't go anywhere without his little bitch, aka my brother, following him around. It's ridiculous. I swear, it wouldn't surprise me if they shower together.

Okay, that's kind of rough. My brother doesn't have a lot of friends—he got along with Alec, Izzy's brother, well enough, but then Alec moved to Syracuse to go to college with his boyfriend, Magnus, and we barely see him anymore. He has maybe one other friend, and now Jace.

A car pulls up in front of my house, and Isabelle walks out, wearing shades even though the sun isn't out. I roll my eyes and scoot over so she can sit on the steps with me.

"How long have they been out there?" she asks, nodding toward the boys.

I shrug. "Half an hour. I was here before, and I refuse to move."

"How's that working out for you?"

I glare at her and close my sketchbook. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm not going to school tomorrow—my parents want me to stay home so we can have a great family chat or whatever—so I thought I'd come over, see what you were up to."

"We just saw each other two hours ago."

"I can feel the love."

I shake my head and set the sketchbook aside, shoving my freezing hands into the pockets of my coat. "Seriously, though, Izzy."

"I don't know." She shrugs, staring out into the street. "I thought you might want the company."

I do. I don't tell her that, though. I just nod, but I've wanted to hang out with somebody every time he's here. It makes me feel so much safer, less vulnerable.

"You okay?"

"I'm okay."

"Are you gonna make me call you out on your bullshit?"

I roll my eyes. "I'm serious! I'm fine. I mean, I'm not about to go running around and singing happy songs, but I'm okay. Like, you know, not wanting to die or anything dramatic like that." _Most of the time, anyway_.

"Good." Isabelle sighs. "Because I need to talk to you about Simon."

"What about him?"

"I'm scared to tell him that I love him."

"Why?"

"Because it's this huge thing, and I've never told a guy I love him before, and I do. I love him. And that just makes it harder, because I can lie, but telling a truth this big is _hard_. Even if we've only been dating for four months, I've loved him for much longer, but telling him how is just scary."

I smile. I don't know what it's like, to feel a love so huge that you can't even begin to express it, so I just look out into the horizon like she did before. "Just tell him. Simon's crazy in love with you, and you're crazy in love with him. You want him to know that." I nudge her. "Trust me."

"It's not that easy," she mumbles, looking down.

"Yeah it is."

"I don't see _you _telling people what's on your mind all the time."

"It's different. That's nothing," I say, looking at Jace briefly before focusing on Isabelle. "You're in a relationship, and he loves you. Just do it."

"I'll think about it." She bumps my shoulder, and we stay like that, in silence. I think she's waiting for me to break, to tell her that nothing's okay and I'm scared to draw my curtains apart because I might find him there, on the other side, and it terrifies me that he's so close when all I hoped was that he'd stay far, far away.

My brother runs up to me. He has a water bottle in hand, and he's sweaty, but he's grinning. "Do you wanna order pizza?"

"I'm not paying," I say.

"I'd eat pizza, though," Isabelle tells him. "And so would she."

"Cool. Jace and I are splitting the cost, so—"

"Wait, why?" It comes out harsher than I mean for it to, and Isabelle looks at me like I'm nuts. "We can't take his money."

"Well, he _is _gonna be eating it with us."

I force myself to breathe. In and out, I tell myself. In. And. Out. "Just tell him to let me know when he's ready for tutoring. We only have four sessions left, so we really need to hurry up and get things done."

"Tell him yourself."

"Fine."

Isabelle rolls her eyes. "Stop being such babies. Jon, order the pizza. Clary, talk to Jace. And no complaints about his money," she warns. "It's getting us food."

"Fine." I groan, standing up and making my way over to where he's standing.

He described himself a lot in the emails he sent to me, said girls thought he was handsome and had a nice ass, but the mental pictures I'd come up with didn't compare to the real thing. Jace is gorgeous, of course. His hair is the color of the sun, a yellow that's almost impossible, and his eyes are the same color if he's facing the sun. Which he isn't, but I've seen it before anyway.

"When you're done," I tell him as my way of greeting, "let me know so we can get to studying. We need to hurry up and all."

I'm about to stalk back into the house and lock myself up in my room when he says, "Hold up, Clary."

Even though I don't want to, I turn around. _Don't look mad or he'll know what's up_. "What?"

He seems like he's struggling with himself, and I think he might tell me what I want to hear. That he's sorry. That he knows who I am. But he shakes his head, and it's like I know what he's thinking, because he just asks if I brought my book, since he hasn't gotten his yet.

"Yeah." I shake my head, biting my lip to keep from looking like a teary-eyed idiot. "It's inside. Just, uh, let me know."

I walk back into the house, and Izzy, noticing that I'm _not _in a good mood, walks in behind me, following me up the stairs and into my room. And now I _really _want to cry, because I'm never getting an apology from him. It's stupid to cry over him—I tell her this much—but we both know that it's all I did for, like, two whole days back in the winter.

"Okay, I know you hate yourself right now, but it's totally normal."

It's like she can read my mind sometimes.

Isabelle sits beside me on the bed, fully aware of my watery eyes and my heavy heart. "You didn't know him for that long," she says, "but he still told you a lot. More than most people would, anyway. It's okay to grow attached to someone even though you don't see them every day. You knew he was a real guy, and that he was our age, and it's okay that you cried over him and all. Promise."

"It's ridiculous!" I tell her, burying my face in my pillow. My voice is muffled, but I don't care. "I didn't see him, and he was in Paris, and I only talked to him for a month—"

"Almost every day, about personal things," she adds.

"—and I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up."

"Probably not. But it's fine that you did."

I shake my head. Maybe she's right. Maybe it's okay that I cried over a boy I barely knew, but it doesn't feel like that to me.

"Show him what he's missing," she whispers to me, grinning. "You can't hide up here and expect him to feel sorry if you don't show him that you're the girl who emailed him."

I roll my eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"Come on." She tugs at my sleeve. "I know what we're gonna do."

"What?" I stand up.

"Play the piano."

My eyes widen. _Nonononono_. "Isabelle," I warn, but she's dragging me out of my room and down the stairs, where the boys are talking by the counter.

"Jon," she says, breathless. "Where's that old piano of Clary's?"

She can't see me, thank god, but I'm shaking my head wildly at my brother, begging with my eyes. "In the garage," my brother replies, grinning. I glare at him. "Why? Are you gonna get her to play?"

"No," I say.

"Yep."

I sigh. "I am _not_—"

"She needs to cheer up. School's stressing her out, she's out of movies to watch—"

"I'm fine," I tell my brother. "And definitely _not _in the mood to play the piano."

"You're playing it," he says. "Jace, help me get it in the house."

And off they go, into the garage, to get my stupid piano out. Sure, I loved the piano. Hell, I was even pretty good at it…five years ago.

They bring it inside the house, and it's still big and dusty and very much mine. Luke bought it for me when I was seven and started taking classes, but it's been way too long.

"It's not even tuned," I tell them as they set it down in the middle of the living room.

"So tune it," Jon says.

"I don't remember how," I say, exasperated. "I haven't played it in _ages_, Jon."

"I know how to tune it," says Jace, and of _course _he knows how to tune the freakin' piano.

So we stand back and watch as Jace tunes it. I hadn't forgotten that he plays the piano, of course, but I didn't know he could tune it. My hero…_not_.

"Done," he says fifteen minutes later. "This is old."

"Almost ten years old. Seriously, Izzy."

"Not a chance you're getting out of this."

"I loved it when I was _eleven_, you assface. It doesn't mean I'm gonna love it now."

"Oh, come on," Jon teases. "I wanna hear you play."

"You hate the piano," I remind him, shooting daggers at him.

He shrugs. "I've found a place for it in my heart."

I snort.

"Just play it," Isabelle says. "You'll feel _so _much better."

"You are the worst best friend anyone could ever ask for."

"I love you, too."

I go up to my room and search for one of my old piano books. One of them has "A River Flows in You" by Yiruma, which is my favorite to play—or _was _my favorite, back when I could actually play it. I stare at it as I make my way down the stairs. I can sort of tell the notes apart, but this is going to be a mess. A huge, embarrassing mess.

"You don't remember the notes, do you?"

I jump at the sound of Jace's voice. "Jesus," I whisper-shout. "What the hell?"

"Not Jesus, but fairly close."

I walk into the living room. "I remember the notes just _fine_."

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow. "Prove it, please."

I have never hated people as much as I hate him and Izzy right now.

I set the music book down and prepare myself, playing a couple of simple things first. I can do this. I've been playing the piano since I was seven. I played it for almost five years, and it was everything to me for that time. So why, _why in the freakin' world, _can't I remember _anything_?

_You got this_, I tell myself, even though I definitely don't.

"I love this song," says Jace, and I grit my teeth. He literally cannot be more annoying.

I start playing, surprised at how easily I remember this song. Of course, I played it every day for two years, and, even when I quit the piano, I would go to the garage and play it. I listen to it every day, too; it's a good luck sort of thing, like a comfort blanket or whatever. Only it's a song. Which is surprising, since I'm more artsy than musical, but whatever.

I'm giddy as hell. I'm not messing up. I'm _playing the song_, my eyes glued to the book in front of me as I catch up with its pace. I can't believe it. I mean, seriously, I'm playing the piano. I didn't expect it to feel so good, but it does.

I finish the song without messing up, and I can't help but grin. "You guys are annoyingly persuasive."

"Do you feel better?" Isabelle asks expectantly.

I roll my eyes, but my tone is sincere when I say yes.

"That was good," Jon says. "Who knew you could still play, little sis?"

"I didn't know you could play," Jace says, staring at me like he doesn't know me.

Because he doesn't.

And he should stop acting like he does.

"There are lots of things you don't know about me," I tell him, and then I regret it, because my brother probably thinks I'm flirting with his friend, which is pretty much the opposite of what I'm doing. God, this sucks.

"Guess so."

"You two met this week." My brother's as confused as ever. "Of course you don't know each other."

"Right." I clear my throat. "Well, I played the piano. Ta-daaaa. I guess you can put it back in the garage now."

Izzy pouts. "We only get one song?"

"One insanely uplifting song. I feel loads better. Seriously."

"You're always sarcastic when you say seriously like that."

I groan.

"Wait, how about we hear Jace play something? You play, right?" Isabelle's looking at him expectantly, and I want to die.

"Yeah," he says, and then looks at me. "Do you mind if I—"

"Apparently not," I mutter, standing up. Seriously, what the hell is _wrong _with me?

"Play something good," says Jon. "Like, from this century."

I glare at him and wait as Jace thinks it over.

"Boston" by Augustana is suddenly playing, and I'm surprised by both his great ability to play one of my favorite songs and his choice of music. I sing it in my head as he plays it, my mind letting go of the fact that he's playing.

_You don't know me,  
>You don't even care,<br>Oh, yeah… _

I tell myself to stop singing, to focus on the fact that one of the people I resent the most is playing. Because that's the thing about music: you can hate the performer for your whole life, but you can't hate the song if it makes your heart sing and your chest ache. So I sing the song in my head, careful not to let Izzy see how much this is getting to me, and ignore the fact that Jace is playing.

_She said I think I'll go to Boston,  
>I think I'll start a new life,<br>I think I'll start it over,  
>Where no one knows my name.<br>I'll get out of California,  
>I'm tired of the weather,<br>I think I'll get a lover,  
>I'll fly 'em out to Spain.<em>

I realize that my eyes are closed, and I open them up to see Isabelle looking at me with a smile, but she's shaking her head ever-so-slightly. She's impressed, no doubt, but there's something else going on with her. She's as conflicted as I am, and I don't even wonder why.

My brother looks impressed, his eyebrows raised, and he's nodding like it's not one of the most emotional songs ever. My brother likes music enough, but he likes it the way most people like art: in an appreciative way, never going beyond enjoying the rhythm and maybe noticing a notable lyric or two.

He plays the last note, and I don't look up. I feel like I'm wearing everything I've felt for the past two months on my face, all the bashfulness and the hopefulness and the hurt and betrayal and just _everything_. I don't want him to see me like this.

"Wow," says Isabelle, and I'm relieved that someone else spoke first. "That was pretty damn good."

My brother nods in agreement. "Maybe you and my little sis can play a duet for us."

I tense up. "I, ah, don't know any duets, Jon."

"Yeah, I'm more of a solo player myself," Jace says, and, even though we're both saying these things for the exact same reason, the way he answered makes me want to punch him in the face.

_I'm more of a solo player myself_. He's full of himself.

"Just sayin', you two aren't half bad at this, and you'd sound way cooler together."

I try not to think of how that applies to the way I feel about Jace and ignore Jon's suggestion, pulling out my phone to see a text from Simon, asking if everything's okay. I show it to Isabelle, and she smiles.

"I texted him already," she says. "That boy worries too much."

"It beats having you come over here all the time," I tease.

"Uh-huh. You love me."

"Okay," I tell her, my voice changing, turning more serious. "I played the piano. Feelin' lots better here, really. Can we go upstairs now?"

"Yep." She stands up at once, gracefully, and I roll my eyes at how happy she seems, how satisfied. I swear, if I didn't know better, I'd think that she's trying to fuck everything up rather than help out.

But that's the thing: Isabelle's never had many friends. She doesn't know how to be helpful because she's never been friends with someone like me, someone who's extremely different than her. It's okay that she fucks up sometimes, but sometimes it irritates me that she doesn't seem to listen to me. I don't mind, though, especially not this time. It's just the Jace thing. Sure, it's been freaking me out since I found out who he was, but do I _really _need to freak out right now? Really?

_No._

"That was awesome," she states once we're in the safety of my room. She has a grin on her face and her eyes are shining, and I kind of want to slap her.

"It was awful." But I don't sound miserable. I mean, why should I? I didn't fuck up during my song. Okay, _yes_, Jace's song kind of made me want to throw myself out the window in some ways, but that's because I'd forgotten that he could play and didn't know he would start playing one of my favorites.

"You're smiling," she says, "so it wasn't _that _bad."

It wasn't. The truth is, I'm getting used to his presence. It still hurts to know that the boy I learned to care about, the same one that stopped talking to me all at once without an explanation, is everywhere now. But I think I can handle it. I don't mean that I'll be hanging out with him soon, but I can get to a place in which I can be civil and not feel like I'm an idiot for ever trusting someone like him.

"Whatever," I tell her. "You need to go."

"No way am I leaving before the pizza gets here." She sounds like the stubborn person she is, and, when I glance at her, I see that her arms are crossed over her chest, and her expression is one of defiance. She can be so goddamn annoying sometimes, I swear. "I'll even do some of your homework."

There are perks to having a bored best friend with an insane craving for pizza.

* * *

><p>I don't know what compels me to do it.<p>

He's long gone now. He went back to his house two hours ago and, if he's anything like Jon, he probably showered, changed, got some food, and is watching either porn or soccer or some TV show about who knows what.

But I'm still curious. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I want to tell him so _bad_, because my heart aches to let it all out and I can't sleep due to this. Or maybe it's because he's right there and I might get a kick out of feeling some thrill or whatever.

So I take a deep breath, and I tell myself that I'm not being stupid. I draw my curtains apart slightly, and there he is.

It's his room, after all. He's pacing, his brows knitted together, and he's either focusing really hard or he's extremely confused. He's biting his lip, and I try to focus on what could be troubling him instead of how damn sexy he looks.

He decides to look up, and I jump back, my heart hammering against my ribs. I feel like I might burst.

But I try to calm myself down, to take a deep breath and slow down the beating of my heart. He has to know he's facing my room, right? And his curtains are drawn apart. If he isn't hiding, then why should I? Sure, he hurt me, and it sucks that he's right there to witness as I still hang on to it, but there is nothing I can do about it.

I pull my curtains apart and find that he's still looking this way. He looks like an innocent guy—a sexy one, sure, but one that hasn't done anything wrong.

Then his dad comes in, and I can tell right away that he's pissed. He's yelling at Jace, though I don't know what he's saying. I know that this probably doesn't happen often due to the whole trying to win him over thing, but I can tell that Jace is used to his dad raising his voice. I find myself turning away, unable to see the scene unraveling before me. I'll want to go to him if I stay watching, and I don't want to feel like that. I don't want to want to help him.

I turn around one more time, and his curtains are drawn together, covering whatever the hell is going on in there. I find myself panicking slowly, but I scold myself. Why the hell am I panicking? He's nothing to me. Jace Wayland is—and means—nothing to me. He's just a person who used to be somebody, who used to mean something, but then he fell off the face of the earth for two months, and I don't want to know why or how or what happened that would make him feel like he couldn't talk to me, because it might just make me fall apart.

Suddenly, I can see his room again—his bed and messy desk. I know he likes to keep his things neat, so I know there's something wrong. He's looking at me, and I don't look away or pretend that I wasn't doing the same thing. He's looking at me like he's asking something, but I just give him a shrug. I consider opening my window, but that would be too much, and I'm not ready for that.

So I draw my curtains together and keep him out, no matter how much I wanted to let him in a few seconds ago.

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think! I'll (hopefully) see you on Saturday (which is SAT day, hence the "hopefully")<em>_. xo _


	5. Chapter 4

_Heeeey, guys. I know this chapter is horribly late, but this weekend was horrible. I had the SAT, and a bunch of projects, and a birthday, and a life, apparently? That, a sick mother, and laundry to do = a very tired me. But, on the upside, you get an update tomorrow as well. :D_

_Thanks to Katwood5 for beta'ing and being awesome, and to IWriteNaked for reminding me to update. Love you two. Team H&H. xo_

_Thanks to all of you who have read, favorited, followed, and reviewed this story. It means a lot to me! :) _

_I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I'll see you tomorrow. :D_

* * *

><p>Not long after I decide to go to bed, I hear the faint sound of something hitting my window.<p>

At first, I think I'm delirious. I'm tired and cranky and slightly hungry, so it'd make sense that I'd start making _something _up. I turn around, facing away from the window, and get comfortable again.

_Plink! _

It's unmistakable this time, and I know where it's coming from.

With a sigh, I get up, making my way over to the window. I pull the curtains apart and, sure enough, there he is. In the window.

_In. The. Window_.

I shake my head and open mine, making sure he knows how freakin' tired I am. Tomorrow's Friday, thankfully, so I can lose a little sleep.

"Hi, Jace," I say, blinking repeatedly, hoping I won't see everything blurry.

"Hey, Clary." He says it like we've run into each other somewhere and not like it's one in the morning on a school night.

"It's one in the morning."

"It's ten to one," he corrects. "Besides, you were the one spying on me earlier."

I'm thankful for the darkness, because I'm blushing like an idiot. My cheeks are probably the color of my hair. "I wasn't _spying_. I didn't know it was your room, and then that thing happened with your dad, and…" I let my voice trail off.

"Sorry you had to see that." He shakes his head and throws a pebble down. We don't hear it land.

"Don't be." I shrug, sitting on my windowsill. Our houses are close, so I don't have to yell, and my parents and brother sleep like babies. "I was the one looking out, anyway."

"I'm still sorry."

"Why'd you call me out here?"

"I didn't _call_—"

My glare shuts him up.

"Okay," he says. "I called you out here because I was bored."

I raise my eyebrows. "That better be the truth."

"And also because I wanna postpone our tutoring session tomorrow."

"What's so damn important that I have to spend more extra hours with you later?"

He's not meeting my eyes. He looks at the ground, like he wants to jump, and then at the sky, like he's praying.

"_What_?"

"Ihaveadate."

"You're not coming to tutoring because you have a _date_?" Ohgodohgodohgod. I kind of want to slap him, but I also want to slap myself. I can't believe I'm such an idiot. I need my phone. I need Isabelle. I need to get inside.

"Could we do Saturday?"

"I'll let you know." I'm shaking. "Listen, I, uh, have to get inside. It's late."

"Yeah. Sure."

I stand up and slam my window shut, pulling my blinds together before walking over to my bed. I take my phone from my nightstand and dial Isabelle's number. My hands are shaking, and all I can think of are those days and nights I sat in front of the computer, reading his messages and thinking that he was really something. He was charming and smart and funny, and I liked the way he talked to me, like I was a girl and a person and not just someone you can talk to when it's to ask a favor, like most people do.

And then I think of the days I sat and waited for an email that never came.

I call Isabelle five times until she picks up. "Hello?" She sounds exhausted, like there are cotton balls stuck in her mouth.

"Isabelle?"

"Clary?" She clears her throat. "Clary, it's one in the morning."

"I know."

"What's wrong?"

"He has a date."

"Who has a date?"

"Who do you think?"

"How do you know?"

And then I tell her about him throwing rocks at my window, and the stupid choice I made to go out and listen to him. For a moment, I thought he was going to apologize, to explain why he decided not to write back. I don't know why. I guess I just got tired of being such a pessimist and decided that, if I thought about it differently, then maybe things would look up. Clearly, my pessimism and my optimism work the same, because he's still going on. By the time I finish telling her all of this, tears are falling. I hate every single one of them; they're staining my shirt and fueling the ache in my chest. But, despite my hatred, I don't try to stop them. There is no use.

"Tell your parents you're sick tomorrow morning," she says. "I'll come over."

"I have a physics test tomorrow." I sigh, wondering if it's really worth it to go to school to fail a test I can't focus on. "I'll see what I can do."

"Okay. I can stay up as late as you want," she reminds me.

"You should sleep."

"Clary—"

"Really, Izzy." I wave her off despite the fact that she can't see me. "I'm fine."

She's quiet for a while. "Okay. But call me if you need anything, okay?"

"Thanks. Night."

I lie in bed for who knows how long, dreading tomorrow. Jace is gonna be there tomorrow. It's strange to think about it that way. It's only been a little over a week, and the taste of his name is unfamiliar. I was used to thinking it—a thought usually followed by a blush or butterflies or something I now hate myself for—but not to saying it. _Jace_.

And it's weirder to see him. So, obviously, I don't want it to be tomorrow. He's right next door, and awake, and totally reachable. I could tell him to answer all the questions I have, but he has a girl now, and I want to forget all of it anyway.

I don't sleep. I _can't_. I keep counting sheep and taking deep breaths and letting my mind wander to places, but then Jace's name magically pops up and I'm jittery and can't breathe and adrenaline pumps through me like it's what powers me instead of my own blood. I want it to go away. He leaves me without breath or brain or will to sleep, three things I desperately need right now.

I consider calling Isabelle—it's two thirty, and she's definitely awake now—but I don't. Instead, I pace. I don't know what I'm hoping to get out of this. I'm hoping that it will be like in the movies, and the answer to all of my problems with make itself known in my mind, but all I know five minutes later is that my lower back hurts and my eyelids are heavy and my problems weigh more than I thought they did before.

I consider reading from my book of fairy tales—that always helped me when I was younger—but decide against it; the light would burn too brightly against my now-fragile eyes, and I didn't want to risk Jace seeing light coming from my room. I don't want to hear the _plink _of a rock hitting my window ever again.

* * *

><p>I tell my mom I'm sick, but she doesn't buy it.<p>

"You don't even have a fever," she says when I try to protest, shaking her head. "You know the rules, Clary: if there's no fever, there's no way you're staying home."

"Moooooooooom," I whine. "I feel like crap. Please, please, _please_—"

"Absolutely not."

I slump, giving up. I go back to my room, shut the door, and text Isabelle. I pull my curtains apart and see that Jace is already up, but I didn't pull them apart for him. I want some of the cold to make its way inside so I can start mentally preparing myself for today, so I open the window and choose something to wear.

Ten minutes and a sympathetic text from Izzy later, I'm making my way downstairs, backpack slung over my shoulder, face looking like crap. What is the point of pretending like I'm okay when I actually feel like total shit? My mom takes one look at me and rolls her eyes, mouthing _melodramatic _to Luke. I ignore her and step outside without saying goodbye, wanting to be away from my house—even if it means I have to go to school.

It's freezing out, but I suck it up, 'cause _no way _am I going back in to get my coat. My brother's taking forever, probably making us late, so I let my mind wander. I think of Isabelle and immediately question why her parents wanted her to miss school today. Her parents are the strictest, and they wouldn't ask that of her unless something really bad happened. I want to know, and then I want to make sure she's okay.

"Hey," Jon says, finally out of the house. "We're getting a ride from Jace today."

I whirl around. "Why?!" _Just. My. Luck._

"Luke has to use my car to pick up some supplies for the bookstore and the gallery." My brother gives me a strange look, one that indicates I should've known this by now. I can't think of a time when I learned this, however, so I continue to glare at him. "Thought you knew."

"I'd have asked Simon for a ride," I mutter, reaching for my headphones.

"Why do you hate Jace?"

I wince. "_Hate _is such a strong word."

"One that perfectly describes the way you act toward him."

We're walking over to Jace's house now, and I hate myself for going along with this. My footsteps are extremely loud; I'm basically stomping. "I don't _hate _him," I say, dragging out the word. "I just don't really enjoy his company. Or the thought of him. Not much."

"But why?"

The million-dollar question.

I shrug. "He's not my kind of person."

"Why?"

I blurt out the first thing that comes into mind. "Too arrogant."

"Give him a chance," my brother insists, and I notice that he doesn't try to argue with me on Jace's cockiness. "I know he seems like a dick, but he's pretty cool."

I know it isn't fair to him that I hate his new best friend and look like someone just farted on me when he's around, but it's not my fault that Jace is the biggest asshole ever. And it's _definitely _not my fault that the fact that he's dating someone pisses me off so damn much that I'd stay home for the rest of his senior year if I could.

"Not to me," I tell him, and put on my headphones to signal that's as much as he's getting from me. I don't know if it's fair to keep everything from him, but it's not fair to _me _that my brother chose the guy that broke my heart as his new best friend. Seriously. Talk about lack of justice.

Jace emerges from his house, muffin and thermos in hand, and opens the door to his car. I get in, making myself oh-so-comfortable in the backseat. I think he mumbles a good morning, but I'm too busy listening to my music and ignoring his existence to a) notice and b) care.

We ride in silence—well, _I _do, anyway. The boys are talking about something; every time their voices rise enough for me to understand a little bit of what they're saying, I raise my volume, daring them to lure me into their conversation. I'm pretty sure they can hear my music by the time we get to the school, but I don't get the chance to ask—or to get scolded. I climb out of the car as fast as humanely possible, gathering my stuff and walking away from my brother and his new best friend as fast as my legs will allow me.

Simon meets me at my locker, and I'm grateful for his presence. "Do you know why Izzy isn't here today?"

I eye him weirdly. "Something with her parents. You okay?"

"Worried," he replies. "I don't see how any good can come out of her being at her house while we're here. If something's wrong—and I think it is—then we should be there, helping her get through it."

"She seemed fine last night when we spoke."

"I called her last night too."

"It was two in the morning when I called, though."

"Oh." His eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Why were you talking at two in the morning?"

"Because of me." I shake my head before he can ask any more questions. "Not right now, Simon."

"But are you okay?" I feel guilty about snapping at him. He looks genuinely worried, and I make myself soften up.

"I'll be fine. How about we go over to her house at lunch?"

"I'll text her right before and see what she says."

"What do you think it is?" I ask, almost whispering. It feels like we're tackling a forbidden subject, one I'm half-scared to jump into. "Do you think someone died?"

"I hope not. I don't think so." His voice grows more secure by the word. "I have no clue, though." And, just like that, we're back to our insecure voices. "I'm scared that it'll be too much for her, though."

"You don't even know what it is," I point out to him.

"But even the smallest thing can make her fall apart," he tells me. "She's really, really fragile, Clary, and I don't know what I'll do if—"

"If what?" I ask. When he doesn't respond, I say, "Simon, she's going to be fine. Nothing too bad is going to happen, okay?" The bell rings; it's my cue to leave. "I'll see you later."

I hear him say goodbye to me, but I'm already speed walking to homeroom. I can't be late. I _can't _be. Then my mom will give me shit about it, and my brother will give me his whole "I don't get up early for this shit" groan, and _I can't be late_.

I'M NOT LATE. YES.

I settle into my seat. Homeroom is the same classroom as first period, which makes things way easier. I take out my Physics stuff and listen to music while homeroom passes. Soon, that turns into doodling, and then I'm spacing, thinking about Isabelle and my bed and Jace and my bed and then the last two combined, and then I want to drown or something.

* * *

><p>History class comes around too quickly, and the teacher stops me before I can get to my seat.<p>

"I just wanted to check in on you and Jace," she says.

I stiffen. "What do you mean?"

"The tutoring," she explains, and my whole body relaxes.

"It's going fine. We should be done over the weekend," I say to her enthusiastically, because I _hope _we'll be done this weekend. I won't be able to stand it if I have to see him for longer than necessary.

"Excellent. Keep me updated, as always."

"Of course."

I walk to my seat, feeling incredibly done with the class already. I can't believe that, out of all the people taking this course, I'm the one who had to tutor him. It's like things try to push us together—I'm his tutor and he's my brother's best friend and of _course _he had to move in next door and become my neighbor, too—but I'm trying to keep us apart. But in my mind, of course, because out loud I nod politely to everyone who tries to make us be together.

My stomach churns as I think of him and his _date_. It makes me want to throw up. I move to Isabelle's seat, increasing the distance between us. Also, I want to be close to the window.

Simon walks in, reminding me that we couldn't reach Isabelle at lunch today. We texted and called about a million times, but there was no answer. It started going straight to voicemail after the tenth time, and, by Simon's expression—eyebrows knit together, tense posture—I can tell that he hasn't stopped thinking about it, either.

"She still hasn't texted back?" I ask as he settles down into the seat in front of me.

He shakes his head and looks at me, but there is no hope in his eyes. "You?"

I shake my head, too. "We should go over after school."

"Sure."

"I have a bad feeling about this," I whisper as the class starts to fill up.

"Tell me about it. I mean, she doesn't just drop off the face of the earth, you know? It's not her."

"She could be grounded," I offer, but it's no use.

"I don't think it's that."

Jace walks into the classroom. My eyes find him before quickly moving back to Simon, but my best friend, alert as usual, noticed, even if Jace didn't.

"How have you been today?" Simon's voice softens. "Izzy's thing on top of that kind of sucks."

I want to cry—not out of sadness, but because I have the best friends in the entire world, and I don't ever want to let them go. "I've been okay," I whisper, but I've always been a sucky whisperer, so I clear my throat and try harder. "I've been trying not to think about them too much. I find it hard to concentrate, though."

He nods. "I get you. I mean, without Isabelle, this is driving me insane."

I make a face that hopefully expresses sympathy. "I'm sorry."

Before he can say anything, the bell rings, and he turns away from me. We listen to the teacher talk about World War II. She goes on and on about the whole thing, but I don't listen. I doodle and think of other things, like my mother's paintings and Luke's books and my brother's soccer and how all of these things make them happy and one whole person. I want to be a whole person. I want to stop feeling like the things I do don't define me, because I want something to tell me who I am. I'm too many things: Clary, the girl who developed a crush on a guy she never really knew; Clary, the girl who is heartbroken; Clary, the girl who's pissed off as hell; Clary, the girl who loves to draw; Clary, the girl who hates her own art and wishes it would go to hell; Clary, the smart girl; Clary, the girl who got a D in Algebra as a freshman. All of these things make me, but I want to be like my brother.

My brother is Jon, the guy who plays soccer and gets the girls and manages to pass every class without doing much. He is Jon, with the redheaded sister and the blond friend/neighbor and the artsy parents and the cool car he bought because he's been working for Luke for as long as I can remember—with the exception of this year. He's simple: sporty, slightly smart, gets the girl, has a car.

But I'm a mess: I like and hate the same things and people. I want answers, but they scare me. I hold back when all I want is to let everything go. I feel too much, and I think too much, and I hate all of it.

Thankfully, I let the teacher's voice bring me back. "Okay, class. We're doing a presentation on the war from the perspective of different countries. I'll be assigning partners."

I think I have an idea of who she's going to pair me up with.

Sure enough, five minutes later, Jace's chair is pulled up against mine, our arms almost touching. Simon got Isabelle, but he's working by himself since Isabelle is not here. I wish I could switch partners, tell the teacher that maybe Jace should get to know other people, but I know there's no use.

I sigh and avoid his gaze. "Okay. Ours is easy. Britain."

"We can work on it later, right? When I'm at your house?"

"Unless you have any other dates I should know about." It sounds as mean as I meant it to sound—in my head, and not out loud. I turn an impossible shade of red and open my notebook, writing _WWI Project: Britain _at the top of the page.

He doesn't seem baffled at all, just laughs. "Nah. I'm all yours." And then, when I look, he _winks _at me, and I shake my head and look back down. I turn red again, but with fury.

"Come on, Fray. You can't just—"

"Don't call me that," I tell him without looking up.

"What?"

"My name," I say to him slowly, "is Clary. So call me Clary."

He laughs. "Okay."

I frown, though I still don't look up. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

"_What_?" I insist, and this time I do look up at him, as his amused expression.

"You're just—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head. "Nothing like I thought you'd be, that's all."

"How did you think I'd be?" I can't look at him anymore, so I look down again, though I want to hold his gaze for so long he gets a headache.

"Nicer, for one."

"I'm nice."

"But not to me."

"_Definitely _not to you."

"Why not?"

I know he's hinting as us having met before, but I'm not giving it to him, not in the middle of class. "You're my brother's friend, and you're annoying, and you spend way too much time in my house."

"So do you want me to back off, then?" There is disappointment in his eyes.

"Yes." The word is out before I can think it twice, and I find myself wanting to take it back. But I don't. It's all too complicated.

"I'll think about it."

Simon walks over and crouches in front of me. "Yo."

"Hey, Si."

"She texted me."

My eyes widen; all conflict with Jace is forgotten as Isabelle slips into my mind. "What'd she say?"

"She—" He hesitates. "She doesn't want us to come today."

"What'd you say?"

"That we're coming."

"What'd _she _say?"

"Only if I bring you."

"Why?"

He shrugs. "She said something about blaming it on payback or something."

I smile. "Damn right."

"I'll meet you at your locker?"

"As per usual."

"Cool."

Then he's gone—far too soon, to be honest, but he's gone and Jace's eyes are on me like he expects our conversation to resume or like he wants to say something, but he doesn't open his mouth. Good thing, too. I feel jittery, and it's not even slightly good.

I don't want to feel this way, like I'm running from the very thing that is always there, haunting me. I don't want to feel like that—like I'm being chased after, like I need to hide all the time, like my heart is on my sleeve when it comes to him.

But I do. I keep my eyes trained on my notebook until they water.

"You really don't like me," Jace comments. It's almost a question, but not quite.

I want to say that I feel everything toward him: hate, anger, disgust, annoyance, and a little bit of love, but that's still growing. I want to be his friend, but I fight against myself, because I also want to be his enemy. I don't want to choose between my head or my heart, and I don't have to, because they're both telling me the same thing.

They tell me to stay away.

"I really don't," I tell him, looking at him.

"Did I do anything to help that?" His eyes tell me that he knows the answer.

"What do you think?"

"That you don't know the whole story. That if you did—"

"It wouldn't change a damn thing." My voice is so strong that I think a couple of people hear what I said, but my gaze doesn't waver.

"Okay." His voice is soft. Hurt, maybe. I can't tell, and I don't want to. I can't start feeling guilty now, not when he's the one that started all this. It's _his _fault. _His_. I shouldn't be hurting the way I am.

And yet.

I sigh. "Why is that so surprising to you, anyway?" I think about bringing it up now, but I can't. "A guy with as much experience with girls as you should have known I'd be pissed."

The bell rings just as he's about to answer, and I bolt, giving Simon a look that says _fix my seat or die. _I make it to my next class, plopping down on my usual chair and wishing more than anything that Izzy were here.

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think! xx<em>


	6. Chapter 5

_Helloooo, readers of this story. Wow. Amazing. This is the product of procrastination. I'm supposed to be editing my college admissions essay (which is 700 words over the limit oh god) and, as you can tell, I'm delirious at the moment. This is what all of my ANs will be like, basically. Fall of senior year? How about no. (Also, if any of you guys would be down to read over my essay and tell me what to cut out/what to improve, I would be so thankful, omg.) _

_Anywaaaay, thanks to Katwood5 for beta'ing this story. I love youuuu. Team H&H. Also, special thanks to all of you who have read/reviewed/followed/favorited. You're all really nice. I like yo faces. _

_I hope you like this chapter!_

* * *

><p>Isabelle's house seems quieter than usual.<p>

I don't know why. I mean, it's never been a loud house to begin with, but there's usually something that clues us in on the fact that there is someone—anyone—in there. But the porch lights are off—which makes sense, because it's daytime—and the blinds are shut in every window. They're making themselves disappear. Or making the world disappear. Either way, I know that there's something wrong, and I can't bring myself to ring the doorbell.

Isabelle answers. She isn't wearing any makeup, her sweats are stained with something that I suspect is chocolate, and I strongly suspect that she's been drinking, because her eyes look heavy. She's slumping, too, so I bring myself forward and give her a hug, even though she probably doesn't want it. Hell, maybe I'm being selfish, but I do. I want and need that hug more than anything in the world, and I'm grateful as hell when she manages to wrap her arms around me. I could cry, but I don't. I step back after my eyelids have been shut long enough that everything seems a little bit red and green.

"Let's go to my room," Isabelle says, her voice croaky. She barely acknowledges Simon, and I feel bad for him.

Her room is the one at the end of the long hallway that is on the second floor. I make my way in, somehow not surprised to find it an absolute mess. There's a bottle of vodka on the floor—empty, I might add—and papers everywhere, like she started throwing her shit around in a fit. Her bed is unmade, and there are clothes all over.

"What happened?" Simon asks her, shutting the door behind him.

Isabelle laughs, but her eyes start to water almost immediately. When the first tear falls, she wipes furiously at her cheek, mad at the fact that a tear fell in the first place. "My parents." Her voice is laced with bitterness. "They're getting divorced. My dad," she says, taking a deep, shuddering breath, "cheated on my mom, and she knew, but she let it happen. She didn't want us to fall apart. But then he asked her to get a divorce, and now they are." She clears her throat. "Getting one, I mean."

I don't know what to say. She always has _something _to say to me—something to make me feel better or to embarrass me or whatever—but now, when she needs me, when I need to be her friend, I don't know what to say. I know I should say something, but I can't. I can't even do what Simon did (he uttered out a surprised "oh" and kept his eyes trained on the floor). I just look at Isabelle, and my eyes tear up from just looking at her like this. She shouldn't have to go through this—not right now.

"Izzy," I manage to say. Her name sounds like sigh. "How are you?"

To my surprise, she laughs. "You did better than just asking if I was okay."

I smile. "Yeah, well, I'm not good with words, Iz."

"I'm a mess," she answers. "I wanna believe that my dad had a really good reason for being such a dick, but I know that there's no reason. There's just the fact."

I nod, knowing where she's coming from. There are things you want to do sometimes, like run and hide and ignore somebody, or like cheat and hurt people, but you don't. That's the thing: if you want to be a good person, or even a decent one, you have to bury these things deep, because the opportunity to be a good person is always there, but the opportunity to mend things after you've lost them is almost never presented to you.

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," she says, sniffling. A few tears have escaped her. "Can I sleep over at your place tonight?"

I nod, bumping her head with mine. "You're gonna be okay."

"Thanks."

"Let's pack your bag. How's Max?"

"At a friend's house for the weekend," she says.

"How'd he take it?" Simon steals the words from my lips.

"As expected." She grimaces and shoves some clothing into her favorite backpack. "Not too good."

"Shit," I say, and she nods.

We stay silent, watching her pack. Then, because I can't stand the silence, I say, "You're paired up with Simon for a project in history."

"Really?"

Simon is the one to take over. "Yeah. We got France in this assignment…"

He goes off about the assignment, giving me a chance to take it all in. Isabelle's family is falling apart. Everything seems to be unable to hold itself together. I remember how scared Isabelle is of being in love with Simon, of saying the words to him, and I wonder if she's going to be okay. She has to know that Simon isn't that type of guy. He's not her dad.

But I'll ask her about that later. Right now, I absently fold clothes that lie on her floor, unable to stand still. I stack up cups and make her bed a little bit more decent. I'm usually a messy person, but seeing her room so messy—so _aggressively _messy, I should say—has me on edge.

"How was school for _you_, Clary?" Isabelle is watching me with eyebrows raised, amused.

"Fine," I mumble absently. I don't want to talk about this _now_. Why does she have such sucky timing?

"Really?"

"Yep."

"Great."

"Awesome."

"We should go," Simon jumps in. He's aware of the fact that I'm not in the mood for Izzy's teasing. "I'll drop you off on my way home."

"I'll drive," Isabelle says, shaking her head at him. "Get home safe." She gives him a smile, and I turn around before they kiss, because I don't wanna see that right now.

I keep thinking of what to say to her. Maybe we can avoid it. Maybe his date tonight won't be such a huge deal now that she has this whole family crisis thing and stuff.

But she starts talking about it the moment we climb into her car. "What happened, Clary Fray?"

So I tell her: I remind her of his date and tell her of our partnership in history. I tell her what he said and what I replied, and then I told her what I _feel_. I told her that I don't want any of it. If this is what falling out of a crush feels like, I tell her, then I don't want it. Why can't I just jump? That's quick. Why do I have to fall? Why can't I predict where the floor is so I can land and then get over it?

"Jesus," is all Isabelle says. She parks the car; we're at my house. "Clary, I'm sorry."

I can't help it. I've been holding it in since history class ended, but the tears and the pain are very present now. I want to curl up in bed and never get out. I hate Jace—I hate that he makes me feel like crap for trusting him, and that I trusted him in the first place, and I hate him for having a date, and for not knowing what he did wrong, and for every single thing that has happened between us since the moment we were assigned partners in that _stupid _assignment. I cry for every single day I lost thinking of him, and the tears fall harder when I realize that I'm still wasting my breath on him.

"You're okay," Isabelle says, wrapping her arms around me. I try to control my sobs, but they've taken over my body. There are tears for her, too, for the fact that she's stuck being the strong one when I can't get a grip, for her broken family and broken heart and inability to love without fear.

"We should go in," I say. It's been fifteen minutes, and my eyes are swollen, my nose is stuffy, and my face is blotchy, but I'm ready to go in and go into my room. Also, I need some water. Like, right now.

"Maybe you should put on some makeup or something."

"It's only my brother today. Jace gave him a ride," I say, pointing out the lack of cars in the driveway. "So we can go."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

We get out of the car and carry our respective backpacks, making our way into the house. I think I can make it, though I hear my brother's voice in the living room, and I'm almost up the stairs—

"Clary? Isabelle?"

My brother.

And then: "I thought I was gonna have to pick her up."

Jace.

How lovely.

I don't turn around. "What do you want?"

"Can you come in here for a second?"

"Now's not the time to be a good brother," I call to him. "I'll be down in a second."

"_Clary._"

"_Jon_."

Isabelle sighs. "I told you to wear the makeup."

I carry my backpack as I make my way into the living room. Sure enough, there's Jace. They both sober up at the sight of my red face, and my brother frowns.

"What happened?" he asks, standing up.

I take a step back. "Nothing. I, um, fell."

"Are you hurt?"

"No. Well, I mean, my wrist hurts." I struggle to make up a lie. "But I'm fine."

"Let me check it out."

"I'm_ fine_," I snap at him, snatching my wrist away from him. "What'd you call me in for, anyway?"

"I'm going out tonight. Double date with this one." He jerks his head toward Jace.

I smirk. "You make a lovely couple."

"Shut up, you dork. Anyway, there's money for pizza on the kitchen table, and I'm leaving in twenty."

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Isabelle says, winking at him.

"Do you really want me to take that seriously?"

My best friend laughs all the way up the stairs.

* * *

><p>She makes me watch <em>Clueless <em>to distract ourselves.

I'm surprised that she doesn't try something else, like watching silly YouTube videos or shopping or something. For some reason, Isabelle Lightwood decides that watching one of our favorite romantic comedies will help me feel better.

And it does, to a certain extent.

Paul Rudd—well, the younger version of him, anyway—is to die for. I love him. I've decided, by the end of the movie, that I am over every boy I have ever liked, because none of them compare to his character, Josh. Seriously. Josh is smart and fun and kind and _smart _and sweet, and I want a boy like him in every boy.

Izzy laughs. "Too bad you rejected Simon."

I roll my eyes. "We were _ten_. Besides, Simon's _nothing _like Josh."

Just then, my brother decides it's a _great _idea to stroll into my room with Jace in tow. Seriously, why are they not gone yet? "Who's Josh?" he asks casually.

"Don't you have a date to get to?" I ask.

"Ah, one of the girls had to give another girl a ride home and stuff, and—well, it's a long story. We're leaving in ten." My brother says it like a promise, and I hope so. "Anyway, who's Josh?"

"The only kind of guy that lives up to our wonderful expectations," Isabelle tells him, smirking. "Fictional."

"You have Simon," I point out.

"Yeah, that was a weak response," Jon says to her, smiling. "Clary, though—"

I groan. "We are _not _having this conversation right now."

My brother looks at Izzy. "Why'd she have to reject Simon?"

"WE. WERE. TEN."

"Your loss, my gain." My best friend flashes me a grin. "Anyway, Clary's smart to wait. Too many assholes in our lives right now."

Jon gasps. "You couldn't possibly mean me, could you?"

"Oh, how could I ever?"

I roll my eyes yet again. "You guys are going to make me suicidal."

"Seriously, though." Jon sobers up. "I'm all for you not dating until you're fifty and shit, but shouldn't you be having some kind of fun?"

"You have enough fun for the two of us," I tell him, and it's true. I'm not outspoken like Jon. I don't go after what I want in the way he does: I go after it quietly, and only if I'm sure I can reach it.

"True." He nods. "Well, I'm off." He pauses suddenly. "Oh, and Jace is sleeping over."

"Fantastic."

"It's so we can talk about the girls."

"Things I do not need to know. Izzy's staying over, too."

"Great. See ya later, little sis."

"Go to hell, Jon," I say, but my voice is full of cheeriness. I don't focus on the fact that Jace is staying over.

"What should we watch next?" Isabelle says, obviously trying to distract me the moment my door clicks shut. "There's _Can't Hardly Wait _and _The Breakfast Club _and—"

"I'm not feelin' up to it." And, suddenly, I realize that it's true. I don't want to sit on my ass for another hour and a half watching a movie about the things I want but can't have. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the ache that has settled in my chest. "This sucks."

"I wish I could help."

"I know."

"Maybe I could get you drunk."

"_No_."

"But—"

"Izzy," I warn, because she knows that the last thing I want is to get drunk. Ever.

She's quiet for a moment. I think she's going to stop with the outrageous suggestions, but then she asks if I've considered dating Eric, Simon's extremely manwhore-y band mate, and I chuck a pillow at her.

"I think you need to find someone else to focus on," she says.

"Who?"

She thinks about it for a second. Frowns. Takes her phone out. She starts _going through her contacts, _and just when I'm about to yell at her, she lets out the most frightening gasp ever. "I know who!"

I look at her expectantly.

"Jordan Kyle," she says proudly. "He's in a band. A good one." She rolls her eyes. "And he's pretty cool. He's single, too."

"Jordan Kyle." I test out the way it sounds. "Okay."

"Okay?"

I nod.

"I'm inviting him over. And Simon," she adds.

"Wait, _what_?"

But she's not listening to me. She's taking advantage of my parents' call earlier, the one in which they casually mentioned that they're staying in New Jersey until tomorrow morning because it's been raining too much. She's taking advantage of the boys being gone until late, too, and she's talking so fast that I barely have time to register it.

I know there's no use. Arguing with her won't solve anything, so I try to clean up my room and go to the bathroom, hoping I can at least manage to tame my curls and stop looking like someone died. I look happier now, but it's hard to smile; my eyes don't sparkle the way they do when I'm happy, and the corners don't crinkle like they would at a joke. I sigh, dropping it, and make my way into the kitchen to take a glass of water and leave our popcorn bowl.

"They're coming over in half an hour," Isabelle says to me, making me jump.

"Cool," I say, though I'm freaking out now. What the hell was I thinking when I said okay?

I try to clean my room, which was, thankfully, already in a cleanish state. I shove dirty clothes into drawers and, once I'm more or less pleased with how the room turns out, I go into the bathroom and look at myself. At my red hair. My green eyes. And, somehow, I start thinking of Jace. He'll enjoy himself, probably.

I try not to think of him sitting in a restaurant with a girl in front of him. I try not to imagine him laughing at a joke or holding her hand or making out with her like there is no tomorrow, because I shouldn't think of him like that. I _hate _him; I feel the fire in my blood and the thoughts in my mind, the thoughts that often tell me that he's a piece of shit. But I know he isn't, and I know that, even though I tell myself often that I hate him, there is another little voice that doesn't let me do so completely.

The doorbell rings, and I exit my bathroom. Isabelle isn't in the room or in the hall, which means she's already downstairs. Sure enough, I hear male voices in my house. The boys are here.

* * *

><p>Jordan's good looking.<p>

He's no Jace, which is a thought I hate, because I want to find him ten times more attractive than Jace, but he's not. He is, however, nice, and also, like I said, good looking. He has curls, just like Jace, but his are darker, a dark shade of brown. His eyes are hazel, and his skin is darker than Jace's fair one. They could be day and night, and I try to convince myself that I am the kind of girl who could fall for the night.

"Hey," he tells me, nodding.

"Hi," I say, but it comes out like a squeak. I offer him a smile, but it could look like a grimace. Thankfully, Simon comes in afterwards; I give him a hug and mutter "I hate your girlfriend" into his ear. He chuckles.

"I know you do," he says, and then untangles himself from me. "So, what're we doing?"

"That depends," Isabelle says. "What do _you _guys wanna do?"

The boys shrug simultaneously, and I don't know whether to be impressed or horrified at their synchronized timing. I walk over to Isabelle and give her a look that says _fix this_.

"Well, I need to talk to Simon," she says, giving her boyfriend a pointed look. "I was going to do it later, but I've found the courage to do it now." _This is so damn awkward_. "We'll, uh, step outside. And be right back," she adds, tugging his sleeve and dragging him out of the house.

Jordan walks over to where I stand, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. He's wearing a hoodie, which I love; I'm the kind of girl who can fall for a guy simply because he wears a hoodie and tugs at the strings.

"So," I say to him, surprised that I'm making conversation, "I hear you're in a band."

"Yeah." He nods, flashing me a simple, polite smile, but it's enough to make me swoon on the inside. "We're called _Glass City, _though we aren't too sure about the name."

"It sounds cool, I think." It _does_.

"Thanks." Now he flashes me a real smile, complete with dimples and wrinkles around his beautiful eyes, and I feel like I might faint.

"So how do you know Izzy, anyway?"

He looks visibly uncomfortable, and he scratches the back of his head. "We, um, hooked up once. Also, she knows my ex," he explains.

"Oh." What else is there to say? I feel like the conversation can't go anywhere. He's brought up the two things I can't respond to: hooking up, and an ex-girlfriend.

"She's your best friend, right?"

"Izzy? Yeah," I tell him. "Though I don't even know why sometimes."

He laughs, and I'm surprised to find myself liking the sound. Now that I've talked to him for more than one second, I find myself thinking he's even hotter. In fact, I find myself looking at him and thinking he's _really _hot; his hoodie may be baggy, but I'm pretty sure there are abs and muscles under there.

"I understand that completely. So, Clary," he says, clearing his throat, "do you have a boyfriend?"

I almost choke on air. "No."

"Really?" His hopeful look throws me off guard. I don't think a guy has ever looked at me like that, and, now that it's finally happened, I don't want him to stop.

I shake my head. "No boyfriend."

We're facing each other now, and I'm surprised at our proximity; he's so close to me I can barely think straight. I think he's even hotter up close, when you see the flecks of green and gold in his eyes, when you see that he has the hottest smile _ever_, and that every feature of his just seems to click and make something wonderful.

And I don't know how it happens, but suddenly he's kissing me. It's a soft kiss, his hands barely on me, but, once I start kissing him back, it gets stronger, his grip on me firmer. I wrap my arms around his neck; this is my first real kiss, and I shouldn't even know what the hell I'm doing, but I guess that those times that I'm stuck watching my two besties make out have finally paid off. I kiss him like Jace is watching, and I hate that that's my point of reference, but I like the way his lips feel on mine. I like that he makes my stomach dance with anticipation, though I know from the way our lips are touching and my chest fails to feel like it's going to burst with happiness that this is just a hookup: no matter how charming he is, it's all for the physical aspect.

And, somehow, I really don't mind.

I never expected the first guy I kissed to be a hookup guy; I always thought it would be someone I saw myself having a relationship with, someone I could trust or something. But it doesn't feel wrong to kiss Jordan, _especially _not when he has a face like that. I smile against the kiss, and we break apart for a second to take a breath. But then we're back again, and I'm standing on my tiptoes, because he's tall, and he's kissing me hard now, like we're the only two people in the world who have ever met like this, like this is the only chance he's going to get to kiss me this way or maybe to even kiss me at all.

"Wow," he says, his forehead bumping against mine.

I bite my lip. "Wow yourself," I tell him, and his lips find mine again.

Isabelle and Simon open the door, thankfully, once Jordan and I have stopped kissing. We're sitting on the steps, drinking water, when my two best friends come in, and I'm pretty sure they know we've been making out by the way we know they've been making out: messed up hair, swollen lips, dazed looks on our faces.

I feel like I'm in some sort of heaven.

Isabelle sits beside me on the steps once Jordan stands up. "So, I see it finally happened for you."

I turn red. "I guess."

"Was it good?"

"Not discussing that."

"Oh, come _on_." She groans.

"Nope."

"Fine."

"Awesome."

"So," Isabelle says, loud enough for everyone to hear, "are we watching a movie?"

"Yep." Simon walks over to us. "I have my Netflix information and am _so _ready for this."

I roll my eyes. "Horror?"

"Totally," Jordan says, finding his way over to me.

"Cool."

We set everything up, and Simon sets up Netflix. We connect the laptop to the TV and sit down on the couch, waiting for _Grave Encounters _to load. Simon and Isabelle have their own bowl of popcorn, as well as Jordan, who is sharing his with me, even though I'm not really in the mood to eat popcorn. I love horror movies, but they don't make me hungry, and this particular movie makes me want to throw up.

I'm burying my head in Jordan's shoulder halfway through the movie, and I can hear Isabelle whimpering beside me. She _hates _horror movies; she only agreed to this one because she feels like she owes something to Simon, I think. Anyway, I'm terrified, but Jordan is enjoying this. He has an arm around me, an arm that is sliding dangerously close to my butt. Not that I mind. At. All.

The movie ends, though not soon enough. Simon and Isabelle go upstairs to "talk" again, and Jordan and I stay down. He helps me clean, and I'm surprised to find myself wanting him around. I enjoy his company; he's quiet, only answering questions when I ask them, and he goes out of his way to make me feel comfortable. It's the sweetest thing ever, and I'm pretty sure I would develop a crush on him if it weren't for the fact that he's probably not looking for anything other than a hookup.

We go back to sitting on the steps, facing the entrance. I want to tell him something, _anything_, but I can't seem to start this conversation. I face him, giving him a look that hopefully says _kiss me, damn it_.

"Hey, Clary?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you?"

_Hey, it totally works. _

I nod, and I feel relaxed when his lips finally find mine. Kissing him still feels like my heart might burst out of my chest, but in a good way. I'm nervous that I'll fuck up, and I'm nervous that he'll think I suck at it, but his hands are cupping my face and I want him to touch me the whole night. I move toward him, ignoring the fact that my neck is going to feel like shit later on, and I kiss him with everything that is pent up inside of me. I kiss him because I am angry with Jace, and I kiss him because I want to be in love, and I kiss him because I don't, and I kiss him because he's hot, and because he's a one-time sort of thing, and then, finally, I kiss him because I want to.

The front door bursts open, but we're not quick enough; his lips are still half on mine when my brother growls, "Get the _hell _away from my sister!"

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think! I'll update again on Saturday. xoxo<em>


	7. Chapter 6

_Hi, guys! So, now that we're back on track with the scheduling, I'll be updating (hopefully) on Saturdays and Wednesdays. I don't know how accurate that'll be in the next two weeks, because I'm moving (again!) to a new house, but yeah. :) Thanks so much for reading! Special thanks to my beta, Katwood5, for being awesome. Also, this message is short because it's midnight and I'm dead. Hope you like the chapter!_

* * *

><p>I guess what surprises me the most, out of all the things I can name, is that my brother seems pissed.<p>

My brother's never been the protective, you-are-never-ever-having-a-boyfriend type of brother. He doesn't really care if I date—or, well, at least I _thought _he didn't. But, then again, meeting a stranger because he has his tongue halfway down your sister's throat isn't exactly _ideal_.

We've stumbled apart now, and Jordan looks as horrified as I do. Jace looks momentarily stricken, but he fixes his composure fast enough so I'm the only one that notices. My brother, however, still looks royally pissed, and Simon and Isabelle's feet against the stairs are our only source of noise. Aside from that, the house is dead quiet, and I'm more than a little intimidated.

"What the hell, Clary?" Jon asks, his eyes wide, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. _I'm sorry? _I want to ask, but I'm not sorry, so I don't. "Who is this?"

"This," I say slowly, "is Jordan. Jordan Kyle," I add, as if saying his last name will make him less intimidating and reduce my brother's fiery anger to mere ashes. A girl can dream, right?

My brother doesn't even acknowledge Jordan. He looks up to my best friend, who is holding her own. "This is all you, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah," Isabelle says, making her way down the stairs one step at a time. "Why shouldn't your sister be allowed to have some fun?"

"Because—"

"Because _nothing_, Jonathan," she snaps. I remember how it was when they dated. They were always fighting, always screaming at each other, and now I remember why. They were both too stubborn, too much like each other for their own good. "You had your fun today, right? With one of those idiots from school? Well, Clary gets to have her fun with a guy I know and trust. Jordan's one of my oldest friends, and he's trustworthy, and he's nice, so _fuck you_, Jonathan."

Has she been drinking? Probably. She snuck in some alcohol from her house—I noticed earlier when she was in the bathroom and I was looking for her phone in her bag—so it wouldn't surprise me if she's tipsy right now. Ah, shit.

"Okay," says Simon, grabbing her shoulders. "_You _need to go to bed."

She easily manages to escape his grasp. "Jonathan," she says to him, her voice no longer holding a fight within, "you can't make her feel like crap for living her life."

My brother barely acknowledges her, but there's a hint of _something _in his face, an acknowledgment that she's maybe right. And of _course _she is. I will fight with him about it, because it's true; he's allowed to have his fun, to mess around and kiss and get drunk, and so am I.

"I'm gonna go," Jordan says. "I'll call you later or something?"

I nod. "Okay."

We don't lean in for a kiss. The awkwardness is tangible as Jordan shows himself out. I'm standing on the first step, feeling like an idiot, and my brother heaves a sigh before saying, "Okay."

"Okay?" I ask him, confused. "What?"

"So you were making out with some stranger," Jon says. "So what, right?"

"Right."

Jace looks like he wants to punch Jon, but I try not to focus on him; I focus on my brother, who's stuck between wanting to pace and wanting to stand still in order to avoid looking distraught.

"Listen," I tell him, "it's no big deal."

"Uh-huh."

"And you _can't _tell Mom and Dad."

He snaps his head up. "You can't ask me to do that."

"Oh, come on," I snap. "I don't tell Mom about the condoms you keep literally _everywhere _and the time you had a pregnancy scare with Catarina Loss and how, just now, you had sex on your date."

Jace chuckles at that last one, but covers it with a cough. Jon glares at me. "And how would _you _know that?"

"You have sex hair and you look exhausted," I state simply, though I wasn't sure I was right before. I smirk. "So I really think telling Mom and Dad about all of that, _especially_ because of the pregnancy scare, isn't in your best interest."

"Man," my brother says, whistling. He looks…appreciative? Impressed? "I taught you well."

"Survival of the fittest and all that." I wave him off. "How was your _date_?"

"You know more about it than I do, it seems," he mutters, walking into the kitchen and grabbing two water bottles, tossing one over to Jace. I have not forgotten he's there; every inch of me feels him there.

"Oh, come on. Who'd you go out with, anyway?"

"Olivia."

"Don't know her."

"She goes to another school."

"You mean someone who _can't _give you a quickie between classes?" I mock him, gasping. "How will you go on?"

He flips me off. "Fuck off, little sis. I don't see you bothering Jace this much about his date."

"Then again," I muse, "he didn't threaten to tell Mom and Dad about Jordan."

"Do you like this guy, anyway?"

I shrug. "I guess I do. Yeah. He was nice, and…well, I don't know. I wanna get to know him more."

"He seems cool," Jon says. "But I don't know, Clary."

"Well, good thing I'm the one that has to." I begin to go up the stairs. "Stay out of it, Jon."

"Yeah, yeah." He waves me off, and that's that.

Simon's sitting beside Isabelle on my bed, and he jumps up so suddenly that she stirs, but, thankfully, doesn't wake up. I walk over to him and pull his sleeve, leading him into the hallway.

"You can go now."

"Yeah."

"How is she?"

"She's okay," he says. "She didn't drink much. How about you? How'd that go down?"

"I managed to get my brother to shut up. Jordan said he'd call me, but I doubt he will." I roll my eyes. "Not with those two morons yelling and gaping at him, anyway."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"Clary—"

"Bye, Simon."

He gives up on what he was going to say and gives me a hug. I squeeze him tightly, wishing I could find the words to tell him how I feel about everything. I know he would appreciate it, which is good, but the problem is that I can't find it in me to tell him everything. Not because I don't want to, of course, but because the weight in my chest is too heavy.

I watch as he goes down the stairs and exits the house, though not before giving me a final wave. I am so, so grateful for the fact that tomorrow is Saturday, because it's almost one in the morning, and I am exhausted.

* * *

><p>"Claryyyyyyy. Wake. Up!"<p>

I groan and roll over, shielding myself from the rays of light that shine through my blinds. It takes me a moment to register that it's Isabelle speaking, but, when I do, I shield myself further and hope she doesn't try to wake me up again. Sleep. Sleep is good. Sleep is _so _good.

"I need painkillers and probably food," she tells me. "Pleaaaase."

"Go to the boys," I say, but it comes out slurred. "Leave me aloneeee."

"But _Claaaary_."

"Shut _up_, Isabelle."

She sighs, slaps my butt (which, by the way, is NOT fun and fills me with momentary rage before the drowsiness that comes with being half-asleep takes over again), and I feel the weight of the bed shift and the door closes. Finally. Sleeeeep.

I come to later, though I'm not sure what time it is. Everything is blurry and Isabelle is nowhere near, so I stretch, still in bed, and mentally prepare myself to get up. I reach for my phone and see that it's one. _Oh, shit_. I get up, mouth dry, and make my way downstairs.

Of_ course_, being drowsy with sleep and incoherent for the very same reason, with a brain that's not functioning quite right, I've forgotten that Jace Wayland was staying with us last night. So, when I find him at the breakfast table, I want to die.

Instead, I sit across from him, next to Isabelle, and glare at her.

"Hi to you too," she says cheerfully. "Want a pancake?"

I feel like crap. I regret waking up; I should go back to sleep and maybe wake up at 5 and who _cares _if I miss an entire day, right? But I can't, because I have to tutor Jace today. I want to cry. Not only for one day, but possibly forever. All I want to do is sleep and ignore the rest of my life, but, of course, there's the fact that I have to tutor Jace, my former crush, the guy that saw me making out with Jordan last night.

"Sure," I tell her, and take the plate she offers me.

No one talks much; we all woke up fairly late, and we're all really tired. I think our brains are taking extra long to wake up, and I find myself wondering the stupidest things, like whether or not it's raining outside, or whether or not I want to do anything tomorrow. Or whether Jordan is gonna call me. You know, no big deal.

My brother does the dishes with Isabelle, and I can hear them arguing all the way up the stairs. I shake my head and, just as I'm about to enter my room, Jace says, "So, when are you tutoring me?"

"Whenever," I say. "I wanna take a shower first, though." _Don't blush, damn it_.

"Cool. Half an hour, downstairs?"

"Sure."

"Unless you wanna go to my house."

"I might have to if these idiots keep it up." We still hear faint yelling, and I shake my head. "Seriously."

Jace smirks. "Well, let me know."

"Yeah."

I make my way into my room, ignoring the fact that, even though I've now had my first kiss with a guy who was worth it and attractive and nice and seemingly understanding and, according to Isabelle, trustworthy, I still feel like I'm being punched in the gut whenever Jace is around. It's like it will never stop, not when I'm thirty and have two kids and a husband. Not even then will I be able to see him without feeling like the air has left my lungs and my heart has stopped.

And it sucks.

I take my towel and clothes and walk to the bathroom, thankful that, in the time I was in my room, no one has occupied it. I take a quick shower, hoping that I'm not late for our tutoring session, and grab my book, notebook, binder, and phone once I'm done. I'm downstairs in twenty-five minutes and find him waiting for me, notebook and (new) book in hand.

My best friend and brother can still be heard arguing.

"So." I'm quiet, because the idea of suggesting it freaks me out. But I have to tutor him and he has to pass, so I just say it. "Your house, then?"

"Okay. Let me go get my keys upstairs."

I sit on the couch and wait no longer than three minutes as Jace grabs the keys and stops by the kitchen to let Jon know that we're going to his house for tutoring. From what I can tell, my brother's too busy arguing with Izzy to care, so we're off to Jace's in no time.

There are bats in my stomach. I would say they are butterflies, but there's no denying the harshness of the beating of their wings, the way they're more demanding than a butterfly could ever be. They're too strong and too painful and they make me feel like my stomach is stuck in my throat.

Jace opens the door to his house, and I'm struck by how different it is from mine. It looks less homey and more like something from a magazine, but that's probably because his dad likes to keep up appearances—as far as I can tell, anyway. He seems like a dick, but I don't comment on it; instead, I follow Jace into some sort of office, which he says is where he studies. It has a desk near the window and three _huge _mahogany bookshelves by the other side of the window. They're full of books and, despite not being a huge reader, they definitely make me want to be one.

I set my stuff down on the round table that stands in the center of the room and sit down.

"Do you want some water? Anything?" he asks, and he sounds so sincere that, even though I don't want him to say things to me, even though I don't want his attention, I ask for some water.

I'm pathetic.

I crack open the textbook and binder, and, just like that, we start working. The nice thing about working with Jace is that he understands that I don't want to joke around. He somehow gets the hint that, when I want to meet with him, I don't want to be his friend or talk to him or play catch up or _anything_. I wanna teach him, answer his questions, and then leave. Just like that. And he goes with it, and respects it, and I'm glad for it. I'm thankful for the lack of painful small talk and "what's ups" and all that bullshit. It's nice and concise, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

We're done fairly soon; we only have two more lessons after this, and I consider asking him if we can cover it right now when he says, "God, I'm so tired. History's such a pain in the ass."

"Tell me about it," I mutter.

"But you like it," he comments.

I shrug. "I'm good at it. Doesn't mean I like it. Do you wanna cover the next lesson now? You know, since you're gonna be busy next week with practice?"

He considers this for a second and nods. "Okay. But can it be in two hours? I need a nap."

I breathe out in relief. "Me too. I'll, um, meet you back here in two hours, then?" I glance at my phone. "At six?"

"Sounds good," he says to me, and I leave my books in his house and make my way to mine.

Did we just have a civil conversation? It seems like I can do this. I can be nice to him. I can be totally nice and not sound like a douchebag. Sure, I deserve an explanation he hasn't given me, but he hasn't exactly been a dick to me, either. If we're just going to ignore everything, it's best to do it right. I will be the epitome of politeness on the outside.

Totally.

I drag myself up the stairs and into my room, set my alarm for five fifty, and close my eyes.

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think! xoxo<em>


	8. Chapter 7

_Heeeey, yo. So, I almost forgot that it was Wednesday today, because I'm really tired. I was about to go to bed, and then I was like, "Oh, crap," and so now you get a chapter. Yay! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm in a lot of pain (wooo for natural body pain + having to move heavy boxes!), so I'm gonna go pass out for seven and a half hours. D: Thanks to all of you for reading! And special thanks to Katwood5, as always, for being a lovely person and a wonderful beta. Also thanks to IWriteNaked for the shoutout on the last SS chapter. (I think it was on that. Idk, man, I'm exhausted. Thanks anyway. I love you.) _

_I hope you like this chapter!_

* * *

><p>I'm late.<p>

Here's the thing: I hate waking up. I love falling asleep more than anything, and I love the idea of having dreams forever, but I hate it when they're broken, when my bubble is burst, and I have to wake up and drag myself around like a puppet.

So I hit the snooze button on the alarm, and then I continued to sleep, and then the alarm rang again, and then I remembered that I had to go to Jace's house. It's almost six thirty, and I'm cursing everything and everyone as I slip on jeans and a t-shirt, put on my shoes, and run downstairs, phone in hand, ignoring the rumbling of my stomach and my blurry vision.

It's dark outside; the sun has fallen, and the colors have left the sky. I ring the doorbell, hating myself for hoping he isn't too pissed, and then remind myself that I _am _the epitome of politeness, damn it. I _am_.

He opens the door, and, oh my god, I want to die. _I do not like him I do not like him I do not like him_, but he's wearing a white shirt that rides up as he scratches the back of his messy golden locks, and he looks every bit like the kind of guy you want to keep around. I find myself hoping I'm not blushing as he realizes it's me.

"I thought you weren't gonna show," he tells me.

"I left my stuff here," I say matter-of-factly. "That means I'm showing up."

"You're half an hour late."

"I overslept."

"Want some coffee?"

Stunned by his niceness, I say, "Yes, please."

I follow him into the kitchen. If my mom were the kind of mom that likes to cook more than anything, she would kill for a kitchen like this. It's a modern, bigger version of ours, and even _I _fall in love with it and the most I've ever cooked was at two in the morning during winter vacations when I was feeling lonely and I made myself mac and cheese that tasted like shit.

I stand around awkwardly, not knowing what to say. "I'm sorry that I'm late," I finally say, breaking the silence.

"It's okay," he says. His back is to me; he's working on the coffee. "You were tired. I get it. Last night was, uh, interesting."

I'm thankful that he's not looking at me and can't see me turn an impossible shade of red. "I'm not tired because of last night. I don't even know why I'm tired, really."

He shrugs. "It doesn't matter. Life can be pretty exhausting sometimes, I guess. You shouldn't have to be the only one who tutors me." He looks apologetic, and I wonder why he's acting so nice to me.

"I don't care. We're almost done, right?" I shrug, trying not to show how happy it makes me that I can hide from him now. I mean, he looks sort of hurt at the fact that my eyes are dancing, but I don't care. I don't. _He _hurt _me_.

"Right." He nods, taking out the milk, sugar, and mugs. "So that guy from last night seemed pretty cool."

_Smooth_. I nod. "He is. As far as I know, anyway. Izzy likes him, and I trust her. Besides, he was really nice yesterday and stuff, so…" I let my voice trail off, not knowing what to say. There are many ways I can describe my time with Jordan, but the only word I seem to be able to utter is "nice." How wonderful.

"Are you two going out now?" He pours the hot coffee into the two mugs and hands me mine along with a spoon. "Not that it's any of my business," he says quickly. "But, you know, it's a fun conversation topic."

I let out a humorless laugh. "Right." I clear my throat. "I don't really think he and I are gonna go out."

"Why not?" Jace frowns.

"After my brother yelled at him, I don't think he'll be coming back."

"That's stupid."

"Not really. Jordan doesn't really know me; we only met yesterday. Sure, I liked him, and we had fun, but I can understand it if he doesn't think it's worth it." I shrug and pour milk and sugar into my coffee. "Anyway, I'm cool with it either way."

"So you _would _date him."

Another shrug. "I guess. He was cool enough."

Jace finishes putting everything away, and we walk together to the office. "I hope you get to figure it out before Jon has a heart attack."

"I don't know why it pissed him off so much." I shake my head. "He's never been weird about me being with boys, but suddenly it's like I can't kiss one without him being all weird."

Jace sets his stuff down. "I guess he's worried now that he can see it's for real."

"I guess." I clear my throat, letting him know that this conversation is over, and open the history book, notebook, and binder. "Let's get on with this."

I don't know why that previous conversation began in the first place, but I'm glad it's over. Teaching him about history is one of my favorite things to do, because I can do so without giving away anything but information about our ancestors. He doesn't have to know how I'm doing or what I think about this or that or how I feel or _anything_. All he has to do is pay attention and get an A and go on to play sports and stay the hell away from me.

When the lesson is over—and it's over quickly, thankfully—he offers me a slice of leftover pizza and some soda. Now, I would usually say no, seeing as I a) hate him and b) want to sleep my life away. But studying makes me hungry, and I haven't eaten in _forever_, so I find myself following him to his impressively large kitchen and waiting as he heats up the slice of pizza for me.

"Want any soda?"

I nod. "Coke."

He joins me at the kitchen island, and we eat in silence. I don't try to make conversation; I try to eat as fast as I can so I can get the hell out of there. Isabelle texts me in the middle of my meal.

_Are you done yet? _her text reads. I roll my eyes.

_No. I'll call you once I'm home, Iz, _I reply, hoping she'll take the hint.

"So," Jace says. "Are you okay? You're kind of quiet."

"I'm always quiet."

"Yeah, but you're exceptionally quiet today."

He makes me want to punch a hole through a wall. Instead, I say, "I'm fine, really," and proceed to drink the rest of my soda so he can't make me speak.

"Are you coming to our game on Friday?" he asks. The guy does not give up. Hell, the more you insist that you don't want to get to know him, the more he asks you all the questions you're running from.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't really like soccer."

He seems offended. "Why not?"

"I just don't like sports."

"You and your brother are insanely different."

"I take pride in that," I tell him. I stand up and go to the sink to wash my dishes, but Jace stands up abruptly.

"What're you doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"With the dishes," he explains.

"I'm doing them."

"Why?"

"Because I like cleaning up after myself. No one should clean after my own messes."

"Oh, come on. You're my guest."

"So do the same when you come over to my house."

"Clary, seriously."

"Oh, don't get your panties in a twist and eat your food. It's no big deal."

"You're going to be the end of me."

I say nothing to that. All I can think about is that this is the perfect time to confront him about the email thing, but I can't do it. I _can't_. Because here he is, enjoying the fact that I hate him and thinking it's all a big joke and not thinking twice about what happened over the winter, and I find myself not wanting to reveal my pathetic side by telling him that, oh, by the way, I've been thinking about you nonstop since November/December and would really like to know why the hell you stopped talking to me when, according to you, it was the last thing you wanted to do.

I tell myself that it'll just hurt my appearance and, after I'm done with the dishes, I gather my things and let myself out.

My phone rings as soon as I'm out of Jace's house. I know it's Isabelle before I look at it, so I just click the answer button before double checking.

Sure enough, it's her. "Hey," she says, sounding slightly breathless. "Hey, hey, hey. We need to talk."

"Okaaaaay."

"I'm in your room."

"Jesus, Izzy!"

"We _really _need to talk."

"About what?"

"Jace."

I stop. "Wait. Isabelle. No. I don't wanna talk about him. Why do we need to talk about him?"

"Because," she tells me, "you need to talk to him if you want some sort of closure."

I hear the slam of a door; I turn around to find Jace, slipping a jacket on, making his way over to my house. I start walking again. "I don't want it. You know what? I'm perfectly okay with none of that bullshit, because both of us will lie, and I'll still get hurt, and I don't want to feel like that again."

"Clary—"

"Save it, Lightwood. And come downstairs to help me with this shit; I forgot to bring my duffel bag to Jace's."

Isabelle sighs. "I'll be right down," she says begrudgingly.

"Clary!"

I turn around as soon as I hang up the phone. Jace is right behind me. "Let me help you. You left really freaking quickly, by the way."

"It was so we could avoid this scenario."

We're walking up by driveway, getting closer to the house. "What scenario?"

"This one. You being 'nice' and trying to help or whatever."

"What's wrong with being nice?"

"When it comes from anyone else? Nothing." I shake my head. I'm aware that it's bullshit and that I'm being a bitch, but I can't keep it all in. "But when it's you? Everything."

"What did I do to you, Clary Fray?"

It makes me stop dead in my tracks. Because here it is. The opening I've been waiting for since I found out that Jace Wayland was in New York, that he was my neighbor, and I can't take it. I can't. I can't tell him how much it meant to me that he hurt me the way he did, because I will lose it. All I want to know is why the _hell _he would do something like this to me. Why he would pretend that he doesn't even know what's going on. I don't get it.

The front door bursts open. Izzy is standing there, wearing shorts and a t-shirt that quite possibly belongs to Simon, and I have two very real options: I can a) talk to Jace and get it all out and see why the hell he's such a total dick, or b) go to my best friend and cry a little in front of someone I trust and watch TV while we eat ice cream.

I, obviously, opt for the latter.

* * *

><p>"You should've talked to him."<p>

I groan. "Not this again."

"You definitely should've talked to him."

"Izzy!"

"Clary!" She's no longer teasing; she's angry. In one second, she's flipped on the switch, and she's mad as hell. "How can you do this to yourself? Yeah, okay, maybe you'll cry. Maybe it'll suck, and he'll stomp on your heart, but it'll be over after that. Just like that, all of the shit you've gone through would've been better. You'd know the truth. You'd stop asking yourself the same insane questions that keep you from sleeping. You could get _closure_, Clary, and I think that's worth a couple of tears."

She storms off. Izzy, always a fan of dramatic exits, gets her dream to come true. She's smart enough to have left her purse downstairs, and I hear her car come to life and then hear her drive off. Yep, she's that kind of insanely, supportive, ditch-you-as-soon-as-I-get-it-out best friend.

I love her sometimes.

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think! The next chapter will be up on Saturday. xo<em>


	9. Chapter 8

_Hey, guys! I'm updating a day early because a) I'm really, really sick, and I need to do something that would make me feel productive, b) I'm moving this weekend, so I'm gonna be extra exhausted, and c) I'm going out tomorrow (and I'm packing, and did I mention I'm extremely sick?), so I wasn't sure if I was going to have time tomorrow (because I'm taking naps in between things). So, yeah. Here you go. Special thanks to Katwood5 for beta'ing this and being so awesome and lovely. I love youuu. :) Thanks to IWriteNaked for being hilarious and making me laugh all the time. And for the care package I'm getting next year, which is coming along nicely. _

_**I wanted to address this publicly because many people have spoken to me about how frustrated they are at the stalemate that Clary and Jace have going on right now, and many of you want it to be resolved right away. I'm just going to tell you that it's going to take a while (a long while) for this issue to be resolved and for them to grow a pair and talk to each other. If you feel like you simply can't wait for that, then you're welcome to stop reading the story at any time. Seriously. I won't get offended; not all stories/paces/characters are for everyone, and I understand that. But, please, **please** do not comment on how long it's taking anymore, especially not now that I've told you that it is, indeed, going to take a **very **long time for them to work things out. I wanted this story to be focused on the buildup leading to the confrontation rather than the aftermath of the confrontation, hence the lengthy period of time between their initial encounter and their final confrontation. That being said, I'm really, really grateful to all of you who read and support this story. Y'all are amazing.**_

_I hope you enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

><p>The only reason I manage to avoid Jace this week is because of the "Really Important Game" they have on Friday. It happens to be the reason he doesn't have time to meet me so we can work on our US History project. In fact, he even asks the teacher for an extension, says he'll have more time this coming weekend.<p>

The teacher says yes.

I avoid him anyway—I don't pay attention to him at school, or in class, or at home, when he comes to eat with us after practice because Jon is basically in love with him and asks him to come hang out almost every day. It's sick. I wonder how they don't want to murder each other from spending so much time together.

My friends don't come over. Isabelle has family stuff to deal with, and Simon is helping her cope with it. I know I'm part of the group, but some stuff I let them have, and dealing with her parents' divorce is something that affects their relationship more than it does our friendship.

Then comes Friday, and I'm researching Britain during the First World War so I don't have to spend as much time with Jace. Somehow, the tolerance I once had is now gone, and I can't be in the same room as him. It makes me feel like I can't breathe.

There's a knock on my door. It's my mom, wearing jeans and a sweater. It's almost April, but the weather's still cold. It snowed the other day. Crazy stuff. "Hey," she says with a smile. "We're off to the game. You sure you're staying in?"

I love my mom. I think it's great that she finally got a night off from work at the same time as Luke. I hate that this is their choice of a date, but, hey, I'm not the one stuck in a game full of screaming soccer fanatics and teenagers making out. I shrug.

"I'm sure. I've got my homework, music, and some movies. Also, I'm exhausted." I give her a smile. "Have fun."

She kisses the top of my head. "I wish you'd get out more."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that."

She laughs. "Okay, I'll leave you alone. See you when we get back."

I nod. "Tell Jon I say good luck."

"I will. And if you want to invite your friends over—"

"Got it."

She says goodbye and makes her way out of my room. I keep working, jotting down notes.

_-Their navy was far more powerful than Germany's_

_-Research: Battle of the Atlantic_

_-Battle of Britain_

I sigh, rubbing my eyes. I actually don't have that much homework—a few Spanish worksheets, a couple of math problems, a book to finish for English. Still, this is better than being out there. Close to Jace. Close to trouble.

I spend half an hour working on Spanish, which is easy enough. Math, though, is a pain in the ass tonight, but mostly because I can't concentrate. I wonder why Jordan hasn't texted me.

And then I remember what happened the night he came over, and I give up all hope that he might call me again. Ever. My brother is such an asshole.

A feeling—an unidentifiable feeling of heaviness—hits me like a ton of bricks, like cold water in the morning, like a piano falling on me. I've suddenly turned into an animated character. Anyway, it hurts. A lot. And then I realize that I miss Jace. Just like that. I guess I miss the feeling of closure, or the feeling I got when I emailed him. I want to talk to him, but the thought scares me, too.

I hate feelings.

I make my way downstairs for a food break, bringing my iPod with me. The house is dark. I'm not scared easily, but I've been feeling so jumpy that the noise the AC makes scares me. I turn on lights as I go, the music coming from my headphones soothing me.

_It's better to feel pain  
>Than nothing at all<br>The opposite of love's indifference  
>So pay attention now<br>I'm standing on your porch, screaming out  
>And I won't leave until you come downstairs<em>

The familiar song from The Lumineers makes me feel better, as it usually does. I sing it as I open the fridge, taking out butter and cheese. I'm making myself a grilled cheese sandwich, I decide.

The bread sizzles when the buttered part of it hits the frying pan. I grab the spatula and press down.

"Babel" by Mumford and Sons plays next, and the beat makes me smile. This song has always made me ridiculously happy, for some reason.

_I've never lived a year better spent in love _

Just then, the front door bursts open. Luke and Jace walk in, helping my brother in. He's wincing, hopping on one leg while keeping the other one lifted. I turn off the stove and make sure my sandwich is on a plate before rushing to where my family stands with Jace.

"What happened?" I ask.

"He twisted his ankle badly," says my mom. "He should probably rest."

"Yeah, no shit."

"Worried about me, little sis?" He tries to manage a smile, but it comes out like a grimace.

"Oh, go sleep, you assface."

Jace looks at me with a raised eyebrow. "Assface?"

I shake my head at him in exasperation and get my sandwich. I wish I could sing the song that's playing now, but I can only sing when I'm in the car with my mom or when I'm alone—or with Isabelle and Simon, but I can do basically anything with those two around.

Upstairs, my brother is trying to find a way to shower. "I feel like I'm gonna fall and hit my head and die."

"Please do," I call out, and I see him give me the finger.

I keep walking to my room. My phone pings; I have a new message.

_What're you up to? _It's from Isabelle. Nothing too exciting.

_Jon twisted his ankle and is scared of showering, and I'm eating a grilled cheese sandwich. You with Simon? _I hit send and go back to my math homework. The loneliness has found its way out of my body, out of my heart. I feel light.

_Ouch. Nope. I'm babysitting Max and working on homework. He's coming over later, though. _

That's when I decide that I miss spending time with Simon.

I spend plenty of time with Isabelle. I spend more than plenty of time with the two of them together as a third wheel. But I haven't spent time with Simon for, what, two weeks? I know it's not that long, but he and I were practically raised together. With all the craziness going on, I miss my best friend.

But I can't tell him to ditch Izzy and come hang out with me, and my day tomorrow will consist of giving Jace his final lesson in US History and working on our project. On Sunday, I think Mom wants us to have a family day or something, though I'm not sure how brilliantly that'll work out, considering her schedule's been insane.

There's a knock on my door. I open it to find Jace. "Your brother said you have the Advil."

"Right." I take the bottle from my nightstand and hand it to him, careful to avoid his touch. "They gave him something already, right? For the pain?"

He nods. "But he'll want these when he wakes up, trust me."

I don't trust him, but I don't think that's the point. I just nod and wait until he leaves before closing the door. When it makes the soft clicking noise, I move to my desk, hoping to finish homework so I can go to bed.

Seriously, my Friday nights are exciting.

* * *

><p>Jace Wayland is at my house at one p.m. the very next day. If you ask me, that's a little early to give me enough time to prepare myself emotionally for his presence, but whatever. I can handle this. And him.<p>

He's carrying his backpack, and he looks as gorgeous as ever. I, of course, hate myself immediately for thinking that he's attractive, but there's no denying that he's pretty much the hottest guy I've ever seen. However, his ugly personality does kind of ruin that.

We sit at the dining table. I tell him to help himself to whatever, because I don't wanna have to be asking him if he wants water every time I get up. Also, no way in hell will I cook for him if he's hungry. There are limits.

Jace has his book open to chapter fifteen, lesson four. He's reading about culture in the US in the 1930s while I make myself another grilled cheese sandwich. He looks like he wants to kill himself.

I make my way to the table with my grilled cheese and a glass of lemonade. "How's that going?" I jerk my chin in the direction of our hefty book.

He snorts. "Let's see. 'In contrast to many radio and movie productions of the 1930s, much of the art, music, and literature of the time was sober and serious.'" He stares at me like the answer should be obvious and goes back to reading.

I sigh. I want badly to hang out with Simon, but I have to finish this and then hang out with Jace some more (yaaaay) to work on our project. I seriously hate my history teacher so much right now.

After five minutes, Jace exhales. "I'm done. Finally."

"Great. Fill out this worksheet," I say, pushing the piece of paper towards him. "Without the book."

"Seriously?"

"Teacher's orders."

"Can't we bend the rules a little bit?"

I shake my head. "No way."

"Live a little, Fray."

I glare at him. "I told you not to call me that. My name," I remind him, "is Clary Fray."

"Well, _Clary Fray_," he says mockingly, "I would really appreciate it if you'd let me use the book."

"You're never letting this go, are you?"

Jace grins. It's meant to be charming, but I'm annoyed. "Nope."

I shrug. "Do what you want."

"Oh, come on, don't be mad."

"I'm not," I lie. "I just wanna get this whole thing over with."

I have the feeling he knows I'm not just talking about the tutoring, because he looks slightly hurt for a second. He regains his composure fast enough, though.

"You're not the only one."

I know he means for it to hurt, but I still hate him for it. "Get it done, Jace. I'll be back in five minutes."

I need a walk. I need to move and to be away from him. I grab my coat from the entrance and head out, making sure my phone's tucked safely in the pocket of my hoodie. I'm glad for the fresh, late winter air. It smells like the promise of spring, and I take it all in.

I wonder how my life would be if Jace had kept talking to me. For one, I'm fairly sure I'd have been a hell of a lot happier about him moving here and attending the same school I do, but I don't care. I'd also be closer to him. I'd know more. I'd know why his dad was mad last week. We would talk about Paris.

I turn my heart to stone. _No. _No way am I letting myself think these thoughts and feel these things. I feel like I might cry for all the things I didn't have, but I don't. Instead, I blink, think happy thoughts, and head back inside.

The rest of my time working with Jace is extremely professional. We discuss the lessons and talk about history and leave it at that. No comments, no personal questions. Sure, Jace still cracks jokes about stupid history stuff and makes fun of Hitler's mustache, but I can't really ask him to make something interesting out of a class he hates. I, on the other hand, love history enough as it is. Not knowing it is being doomed to repeat it, and I would really rather not, because the history of the world sucks.

My mom comes in through the front door carrying bags. "Hey, Clary," she says with a smile. "Are you busy, or can you help me unload the groceries? I'd ask Jon, but…"

"It's fine," I say quickly, standing up. "Um, Jace, can you keep researching and jotting down notes until I get back?"

"Sure thing," he says.

Outside, the air has gotten slightly warmer, but it's still cold enough to need a coat. "You're still helping him?"

I nod. "We finish today, though. We're also working on a project."

"What's it on?"

"Britain during World War II. Kind of interesting, but he hates history, so I don't know." I shrug. The topic of Jace is not one I like to discuss, but it's all anyone seems to talk about. At school, the girls are still talking about Jace. All. The. Time. He moves, and they talk about the way he walks and what it says about him or how he's actually very deep and smart and nice and blah blah blah.

At home, my brother's always like, "Oh, hey, Jace is coming over, hope you don't mind," and then I'm stuck in the same house as Jace for three hours almost every day. At dinner, when we eat it together, my family talks about Jace and how he and his dad seem really nice and what a good friend he is to Jon and how I'm tutoring him and it's all endless, sucky crap, and I wish that I never had to see him again,

With Simon and Izzy, it's a little subtler, but I can tell it's there. The question follows me when Iz looks at me. Every time she texts me, asks me what I'm doing, I can tell she's really wondering if I'm with Jace. If I'm falling back into his trap or whatever. I roll my eyes at my best friend's paranoia, because the last thing I want is Jace.

I help my mom unload the rest of the groceries and go back to Jace. I tell him I'll put all of our information in a PowerPoint, and he tells me to email it to him. We can prepare tomorrow, I say to him. I'm just crazy to get rid of him.

My mom watches him go. She looks at me with an amused expression on her face. "He lets you boss him around," she says to me.

"Only because he wouldn't want to do this by himself. He really hates history," I tell her, gathering my stuff and going up the stairs.

"You two don't really get along, do you?"

I smile at her. "Not even a little bit."

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think! See you on Wednesday. xo<em>


	10. Chapter 9

_Hello! I'm sorry that this is a day late, but, on top of being sick, yesterday was moving day, so I was packing the whole time, and then I napped (because I had the worst headache ever). On top of all of that, I don't have wifi in my new house yet, so I have to wait until tomorrow for it to be installed. So that happened. I also wanted to add that the whole Jace/Clary issue I addressed in my last AN wasn't written out of offense or anything. I just wrote it because a lot of people had asked me about it, so I figured that, for the sake of guest reviewers (and also because I'm lazy and felt like I was repeating myself a lot), I wrote about it in my AN. But yeah. I wasn't offended by any comments on Clary and Jace's situation/feelings at all. I love hearing everything you guys have to say, whether it's good or bad. :) _

_As always, special thanks to Katwood5 for being my lovely, supportive beta and friend. Also, thanks to IWriteNaked for staying up with me on Tuesday until my SAT scores came out. You're both awesome. Oooh, and thanks to spikeyhairedgood for being so super nice and awesome. I can't come up with any adjectives right now because my brain is dead, but the three of you kick so much ass, yo. _

_I hope you like this chapter!_

* * *

><p>In the days that follow, I, sadly, have to see more of Jace.<p>

It's partly because I refuse to be my brother's bitch. Mom and Luke have gotten him crutches, sure, but that doesn't stop him from acting like he's the king of everything. He's all, "Bring me that," or, "Make me some food," and I refuse to stoop down to that level. Naturally, that task goes to his best friend when my parents are not around, which is why, on Tuesday night, Jace Wayland is making us dinner.

I sit at the kitchen island. I have no other choice, because Jace doesn't know where things are, and my brother says he has to be lying down right now, so I'm with him. In the kitchen. Alone. Great.

I wish we had an open kitchen or something so I wouldn't feel like I'm trapped. Sadly, the house wasn't built that way. I curse the damn architect that designed it and tell Jace that the salt is in the cabinet right above him.

I do my math problems. Imaginary numbers and radicals suddenly seem like the most exciting thing in the world. Jace is looking at me, but I pretend I don't notice. I have math homework, and then I have to finish _Huckleberry Finn_, and then sleep. And avoid Jace. But, really, you can't blame a girl for wanting to avoid the guy who hurt her.

Sometimes I think about Jordan, about how it would've been like if my brother hadn't been such an asswipe. We could be going out. Holding hands. Kissing. I could be having a semi-normal life instead of having to tell a guy I HATE where the freaking ingredients are because he's making us dinner.

I get a call from Isabelle right after I tell Jace for the millionth time that the pepper should be where the salt is (boys are dumb) and answer it, glad to have a distraction.

"What's up?"

"My dad tried to talk to me today."

My eyes, which were shut, open up. "He did what?"

"He tried to talk to me. Apologized, told me I'd understand one day." She laughs bitterly. "As if I'm a kid. He's so goddamn condescending."

Jace looks at me. "Do you guys have Parmesan cheese?"

The line's quiet. "Clary, who's there?"

"No one," I mutter, nodding at Jace and pointing to the cabinet to his right.

"Is that Jace Wayland?"

I sigh and lower my voice. "He wanted to make dinner for us, and I couldn't object, because Jon said yes before I could even speak."

"Clary."

"Yes?"

"I'm gonna give you so much shit for this later."

"Please don't," I warn. "Anyway, what'd your dad say? Did he call Alec?"

"Yep. Alec's thinking about coming down for spring break next month." She sighs. "Which sucks, because he could've had a nice vacation with Magnus, but noooooo."

"You do realize his spring break lasts for, like, four days, right?"

"Whatever." She huffs. It's no use to argue with her while she's pissed off. "Anyway, can I come over? I'll save you from Jace, and you'll save me from the bottle of tequila sitting in front of me. Deal?"

I know she's gonna make this dinner hell, but she's right. I need her. She obviously needs me. I wonder briefly why she didn't go to Simon for this and make a note of asking her later. "Sure."

"I'll be there soon."

I hang up. "Isabelle's joining us," I say to Jace. "Will there be enough food in there?"

Jace nods, but he doesn't say anything. He's concentrating. I try not to watch him, but I can't help myself. I think he's one of those people that completely lose themselves in what they're doing, because he's moving like cooking is a dance, like it's the only thing that he should care about. I wonder if he's upset before discarding that idea and mentally hitting myself. I shouldn't care about Jace. I won't. I don't. Ever.

I do homework until Isabelle gets here, and I'm so relieved by her presence that I all but fall into her arms.

"I thought you were supposed to be comforting me," she says, but she holds me tight.

"This was a mutual arrangement," I mutter, letting go of her. "Anyway, dinner's still not ready. This dude takes forever."

_This dude _happens to be behind me. "I heard that."

"I hate you."

"Dinner _is _ready, by the way."

"And you planned on telling me when, exactly?"

"When Isabelle got here. Which she did, so now I can tell you."

"You are so pointless." I shake my head and make my way into the kitchen.

Isabelle is uncharacteristically quiet as we eat. I know it's about me, possibly about Jace and me, and I don't want to ask. We grab our food and walk up the stairs, deciding that eating in my room is more comfortable than staying downstairs.

"You two are comfortable around each other," she tells me, looking at me with judgment in her eyes. "You used to be awkward, and now it's like you've known each other forever, and you act like you hate him, but—"

"Act?" I stare at her, not knowing if she's kidding or not. "Izzy, no one hates him more than I do. I do not like him. I may be comfortable with him, knowing that I hate him, but I'm not comfortable around him. And," I add, "I know you're my best friend, and I love you, but just…don't. Not today."

She looks down at her food and picks at it. "Fine."

I feel bad about the harshness in my words. I'm usually the one who isn't snappy, and she needs me. I hate the way she's acting, because, hello, my life is mine, not hers, but I want her to know that I'm still here supporting her.

"Sorry. It's just not as easy as it seems. I basically have to tolerate him, you know?"

She nods. "I'm just snappy because my dad's an asshole."

"What _did _he say?"

She lets out a bitter, humorless laugh. "He asked me to forgive him. He says he never meant to hurt any of us, and that he loves us, and that he wants to have lunch with us once Alec's back just to straighten some things out. He wants us to be okay with what he did. But I can't be." She takes a breath. It's shaky. "I can't be okay with him ruining my mom and breaking her heart, and I can't be okay with him breaking mine. And Max's. He's devastated."

"Max?" I ask. She nods.

"He's avoiding Dad more than I am," she tells me. "He's almost ten, and even he knows that Dad is beyond fucked up right now."

"God." I lean back against my chair. "I'm so sorry, Iz."

She waves me off. "It's not your fault. Or mine. It's all on him." She says the last word with venom. It's hard to believe that she's talking about her dad. Isabelle always looked up to him, to the way he managed being a working guy and a family guy. He was always traveling and bringing them stuff from all over the world, but he made the most out of the time he spent home.

And now that illusion's been shattered. Isabelle's eyes are burning with rage.

"Do you wanna go make fun of Jon?"

She gives me a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Sure."

And so we spend a good hour making fun of Jon and hearing the way he twisted his ankle. Isabelle teases him, threatening to touch it, and he yells at her. Of course, she gets a kick out of this enough to do it repeatedly. Eventually, though, we all end up watching _The Notebook _because the remote stops working.

* * *

><p>Isabelle promises to hang out with me this weekend. Of course, now it's Thursday, and she's spent the last two days babysitting her brother while her parents fight.<p>

They're dealing with divorce-type stuff, but it sucks to hear it. I can't believe that Robert Lightwood is such a dick. I mean, seriously. Who cheats on someone when you have a family? That's fucked up.

Her brother calls when we're sitting at the lunch table. Alec rarely calls—he's too busy with college and Magnus—so Isabelle picks it up as soon as she can. She sounds five years younger when she says, "Alec?"

He says something to her, and she holds up a finger to us and points to the outside. Simon starts to rise, but she makes a motion for him to sit down and leaves with an apology for us written in her eyes. I take it and sit down, wishing I could hear their conversation. I miss Alec.

"You okay?" Simon asks.

"I wish you people would stop asking me that." Tomorrow is the first day of April, I realize. "I'm fine."

"It's just…well, with him coming here and all—"

"Dude," I say, interrupting whatever it is he was trying to say. "I'm so over that. He's a dickwad. No reason to stress over it."

He looks at me doubtfully. "Are you sure?"

I roll my eyes. "For the love of God, Simon, I'm fine." I take a sip out of my soda. "How are you and Izzy, anyway?"

"I've been giving her space. She requested it," he says quickly. "But she still talks to me and tells me that she's gonna be okay soon. I just need to wait this out." He bites his thumbnail.

I pry his thumb from his mouth and sigh. "It's been tough on them, this whole thing. And, I mean, she's going through a tough time in the relationship department. Yours is fine, but the one she had with Robert? Not so much."

"He's her dad," Simon says. "They'll have to work it out. Right?"

I don't say anything.

"Fuck," he swears, going back to picking at his food. We don't say anything, because the whole thing depresses us.

Isabelle comes back ten minutes later. At least she doesn't look like she's been crying. "Alec says hi to both of you."

"What else did he say?"

She shrugs. "That Dad sucks and he'll be here in two weeks and will stay for four days."

"Awesome," I say, meaning it. After Alec came out as gay during his senior year of high school (last school year, but two years ago), he became a lot more easy-going and friendly. The secret had been weighing him down like an anchor, but he's happy now. With Magnus.

I miss those two.

"Is Magnus coming?" asks Simon.

Izzy nods, eyes glimmering. "I can finally talk fashion with someone!"

"Oh god," he mutters.

"May the Lord help us," I joke.

The bell rings, and we head to US History. I present my project with Jace today, the one on Britain during World War II. I'm feeling kind of crappy about having to look like I don't hate Jace in front of a bunch of teachers, but I wonder briefly if presenting with a guy I hate (and the fact that I tutored said guy) would earn me bonus points.

A girl can dream, right?

I'm too shy to ask, though, so I suck it up and do the Britain thing with Jace, and the teacher beams at us the entire time. I think it's her way of saying she loves me and the way I'm acing this and making Jace ace it. People acing makes for a happy teacher, after all.

After school, I feel exhausted. I don't know why. Izzy drops me off at my house with the promise of texting me when she's not too busy being bothered by Max with pointless questions, like why their dad is so mean and why things can't go back to the way they used to be and why his dad kissed other girls when the only one he should have been kissing was his mom. It breaks my heart when Isabelle tells me that he's been speaking like that, but I know it just annoys her. She's not good with feelings.

My mom has been in my room. I can tell because the curtains are drawn apart and the sun makes my room look lighter than it did before. Since Jace is at practice, I leave my curtains as they are and attempt to do homework.

However, I realize two things: 1) I have the urge to look at his room and see if he's left a part of the old Jace, the one I knew, lying around, and 2) I'm still exhausted. So I close my window and shut the blinds and will myself to take a nap, even though my thoughts keep me awake.

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think! I'll be updating on Sunday. :) <em>


	11. Chapter 10

_Hey, guys! So, I'm really sorry this chapter's late, but I've had a lot going on. Because I missed a week of school, I've had to make up a lot of work. I haven't even had time to participate in NaNoWriMo, so yeah. Nuts. Anyway, thank you very much for your patience and lovely words and support. You're all awesome. _

_Thank you so much to Katwood5 for beta'ing, and to IWriteNaked, because you're awesome and your friendship means a lot and yeah. I love both of you. :) _

_Hope you like this chapter!_

* * *

><p>I think this is the first weekend I've had in which tutoring Jace isn't a thing, thank god, so I decide to spend it celebrating and ignoring the fact that my brother keeps inviting him over to play soccer and practice for the billion games they keep having. I swear to god, there were not this many soccer games in all the other years my brother's been playing.<p>

I'm lying down on my stomach, music blasting from my iPod. "Come On Eileen" by the Dexys Midnight Runners is playing, because it always makes me happy to listen to that song, and I'm doing my math homework. I know. Math on a Friday night. Pretty damn wild.

This is why I don't hear the door open or notice that anyone's in my room until my brother takes a headphone out of my ear and regards me with a look of amusement. His eyes are dancing. I hate him.

Jace is hovering by the threshold, unsure of whether he should cross over and step inside my room or not. I hope my glare answers his question. I turn to my brother. "What do you want?"

"Flowers In Your Hair" by The Lumineers has started to play. _So be in my eyes/be in my heart _is repeating. I skip the song.

"Some people are coming over," Jon says to me.

"You mean girls are coming over," I state.

"Yep. So please, _please_—"

"Look," I cut in, "I really don't care about ruining your love life or whatever. Just don't be loud. And don't complain if I invite someone over, too, since it's apparently sex day."

"_Clary_—"

"Kidding," I tell him, flashing him a grin. "But seriously, Simon might come over after his date with Izzy. And I _am _doing my math homework, so try not to be too loud."

"Noted."

"Isn't it weird, though? To coordinate a double date when you _know _you'll both be having sex?"

"I would tell you why it's awesome, but I'm not giving you any ideas."

I throw a pillow at him. "Then get out."

I put in my headphones. "Still Into You" by Paramore is playing; it's one of my favorites.

_Some things just make sense, _

_And one of those is you and I. _

_Some things just, some things just make sense, _

_And even after all this time, _

_I'm into you. _

My phone buzzes. Without checking the caller ID, I pick up. "Hello?"

"Clary?"

My heart leaps out of my throat. I feel like I can't breathe for a second. And then: "Jordan?"

"Hey." I picture his smile, slow and dazzling, and my heart catches in my throat. "Sorry it took so long for me to call. My phone broke, and I just got paid two days ago, so that's when I got this one. Then I had to go back so they could transfer all the contacts, but I finally got your number back."

"Good thing," I say. I think about my idiotic brother and their stupid plan for tonight, and then I think about how I'm stuck in my room on a Friday night doing math homework and listening to music, and even though I'm perfectly content to continue my night like this, I find myself asking, "Do you wanna come over?"

There's a pause. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah," I say.

"I'll be there in half an hour, okay?"

"Sounds good."

"See you then, Clary Fray."

I hang up on him, feeling like I just signed up for something I'm not totally sure about. I go downstairs to tell my brother. Thankfully, his date hasn't arrived yet, and neither has Jace's.

"So," I say, "slight change of plans."

Jon raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Remember Jordan?"

"Is that the one you were making out with a couple of weeks ago?"

"The very one."

"How could I forget?"

I ignore his sarcasm. "He's coming over tonight. And don't," I warn, "give me crap about him, because if you can have your date and sex and all that shit, then so can I."

"Please don't mention your sex life in front of me."

I roll my eyes. "The point," I say, "is that Jordan is coming over in half an hour."

Jonathan seems like he wants to say something, but he bites it back and smiles. "Okay."

"Thanks."

"Just don't be too loud."

"Oh, shut up, Jon."

I have half an hour to get ready. Half an hour to make myself look semi-decent for Jordan, who might as well be the most attractive guy I'm ever gonna be with. Seriously, he's hot. I run up the stairs, feeling dizzy and breathless as I go into my room and stash my notebook under my bed. I change into skinny jeans and a black knit sweater that makes my hair look like fire. I don't put on makeup, because, really, what in the hell is the point if he's made out with me while I look like this anyway?

I manage to make my room look like a decent, mildly organized living space. No dirty plates, no math textbooks on the bed, iPod placed on the desk. No underwear lying around. No tampons or pads. Awesome.

Now that I have time to kill (ten minutes, thank god), I turn on my iPod in an attempt to distract myself from picking at my appearance or my room or asking the boys to not be dickheads.

_My heart's a stereo, _

_It beats for you, so listen close, _

_Hear my thoughts in every note, _

_Make me your radio, _

_And turn me up when you feel low, _

_This melody was meant for you, _

_To sing along to my stereo. _

I remember being younger and listening to this song and falling in love with love being considered music, because that's what it's always been to me. I'm not a musician; Simon tried to teach me how to play the bass when we were 13, and I hated it. But I have always, always loved music, and there are songs that I listen to that make me wonder if that's what falling in love feels like. Like listening to your favorite song when you're in the right mood for it.

My phone buzzes with a new text message. _I'm here_, it reads. It manages to make my nerves go crazy; the butterflies in my stomach are flapping their wings wildly, and they're not doing wonders to any other part of me.

I don't know why I like Jordan so much. I didn't think I'd ever like another guy, not after liking Jace led me to be disappointed in males altogether and in the idea of love, but there's something about him, I guess. There's also the fact that this may not lead to anything. This may just be us hooking up regularly. No need for dates or exclusive people stuff.

But I don't need to think about that right now.

He's standing right next to my brother, not looking very pleased to be there—not that I blame him, of course, which is why I glare at my brother and take Jordan up the stairs in the span of, like, ten seconds.

"Your brother doesn't seem to like me very much," he tells me.

"He doesn't really like people. Only girls," I tell him, "and exactly for the reason you're thinking, too."

He shrugs. "Can't dislike him for that. Though I hope I don't have to be greeted by his glare every time I come to your house."

"So you plan on coming over more?" The idea thrills me, but I don't let it show.

Jordan smiles. "Only if you let me."

I blush. "We'll see," I tell him. "After tonight."

We enter my room; we'd been standing outside in the hall the entire time, but now it seems natural to bring him in, like the conversation has led up to it. It's cleaner than I thought. I thank god for it.

His eyes travel to my bookshelf. "You have a lot of movies," he says. "And a _lot _of snow globes."

There is, of course, a story behind my snow globes.

When I was two years old, my grandmother bought me a snow globe. They were her favorite thing in the world, she told me, and it surprises me that I remember the conversation to this day, but I remember looking at it, at the snow falling, coating the inside of the globe with white, and I remember wanting nothing more than to own snow globes. So, ever since, my grandma gives me one every Christmas—not during my birthday, because it's in the summer and my mother forbids it—and I buy one for myself, too. So, in total, I own about thirty snow globes.

I don't love them nearly as much as I did when I was a kid. To be honest, I think my fascination with them stopped when I was about ten years old, but they've been a part of me for as long as I can remember, so I keep collecting them anyway, because to not do so seems kind of...wrong.

"I've loved them since I was a kid," is all I say. "Anyway, do you wanna watch a movie, or..?" I let my voice trail off, the words that could have been said hanging in the air for him to catch and say himself.

But he doesn't. Because Jordan, who is ten times more experienced than I hope to be, who is charming and completely understands what those words could have been, closes the space between us and kisses me.

It catches me by surprise; I gasp against his mouth, but I only wrap my arms around his neck. One of his arms is wrapped around my waist, the other cupping my face. His kisses are as nice as kisses get to me when they're with someone you don't know very well: they're amazing without your heart bursting with happiness. However, my heart, which hasn't felt much excitement in, well, _ever_, beats hard against my chest. I'm almost scared that it's beating too fast to function, but the thought leaves my head as soon as Jordan backs me up against a wall.

We stop kissing for a second. I take a breath, and so does he, and then it's like we press play again, and he hoists me up so I can wrap my legs around his waist. I don't know how I got this confidence, but I don't let it escape me. I'm kissing him like I've been kissing him for ages, like we're as familiar with each other as we are with ourselves.

His hands move to feel the skin under my shirt. The thought that we might be moving too fast crosses my mind, but I find myself seriously not caring. I press him closer to me, suddenly unable to get enough of him. I want every inch of us to touch, and I let it scare me for two seconds before, finally, I just embrace it.

He takes me to the bed, setting me down before he takes his shirt off. He has abs. He _definitely _has abs. If Isabelle could see him—which she probably has, let's be honest—she'd flip out. If Isabelle found out about tonight, she'd be freaking out.

I take a deep breath. The reality of what's happening hits me, and I sit up. Jordan is beautiful, and he has a concerned look on his face that I want to wipe away. But I can't. Right now, all I can think is: _Oh my god, Jordan has his shirt off, and I'm supposed to take mine off now, and I don't know if I can do this. _

"Jordan—"

"If you wanna wait, just say the word."

I take another breath. "Can we just...make out for a while?"

He grins. "Sure."

And we do. We kiss, and I hear the voices of girls downstairs, and then I hear footsteps, and I hear a movie playing, and popcorn popping, and the moving stops, and we're still kissing. His hands are free to touch my skin; he wraps my legs around his waist and touches the skin underneath my sweater several times, but he doesn't go beyond that.

At some point, we have to stop. My hair is tangled, and my lips are swollen and red, and my eyes are shining. I feel so happy I might burst, and Jordan is looking at me with a dazed smile on his face.

I glance at the clock. It's just past eleven. "Do you wanna chill for a little bit, or do you wanna go?"

He sighs and glances at his phone. "I'd better get home."

I make my way downstairs with him once he puts his shirt back on. "I had a lot of fun with you. Sorry," I say, cheeks burning, "for earlier, when I—"

"Clary." He's smiling. "I had a lot of fun with you, too. And don't worry about earlier. I understand."

"Thanks."

He gives me a kiss, light as a feather. "I'll call you."

"Okay. Drive safe," I call after him, shutting the door once I see him climb into his car.

I turn around, and the person looking at me is the last one I expect to find standing there.

Jace Wayland is holding a glass of water and raising his eyebrows at me. "Your lips are swollen."

"Great observations skills." I roll my eyes at him. "Is Jon still up there with...whoever she is?"

"Yep."

"I take it your girl's still here, too."

"Sleeping on the guest bed."

"Well, there's a room I'm never stepping into again." I move past him and make my way up the stairs.

"You don't see me being rude about the fact that we could hear you moaning all the way down the hall," he tells me, wearing a lazy grin.

"Sorry for ruining your good time."

"Oh, you just turned my date on even more."

"You," I say to him, wrinkling my nose, "are disgusting. I'll be going to his apartment from now on."

"He has an apartment?"

"He's in college. Yes," I say, exasperated, "he has an apartment."

"Oh," is all Jace says.

"If you get her up for round two, just remember some of us are actually going to sleep now."

"Noted."

I shut the door too loudly, making me wince. I take my iPod and click shuffle, trying to drown out any sounds I can possibly pick up from outside, and grab my phone.

_Guess what? _I text Izzy, a smile on my face as I hit send.

_What? _she replies.

_I just hooked up with Jordan._

_I'm coming over! _is her reply. One can say that Isabelle's a little enthusiastic about my love life finally taking off. She's wanted this to happen ever since we met.

Thirty minutes later, Isabelle's sitting on my bed, flipping through one of the magazines she keeps stashed underneath my bed. "So what happened?" she asks, glancing up at me.

"He called. I told him to come over. We hooked up."

"What was it like?"

"It took place on the wall and on the bed."

"I'm so proud of you."

I roll my eyes, but my cheeks heat up. "Seriously, Isabelle, you've influenced me too much. Hooking up, though fun, is not my thing. I mean, I think I'm actually starting to develop feelings for this guy."

"Which is good," she reminds me. "You need to get over the BND."

"The what?"

"The boy next door," she states simply.

"You are ridiculous."

"You owe me," she says. "For introducing you to Jordan."

"Yeah, thanks for that."

"Anyway," she goes on, "you need to get over _him_, and you are. Because of Jordan. So you should keep doing whatever it is you two do, because it's clearly working."

"Got it," I say dryly. "So how was your date with Simon?"

"Good," she says, sighing. "I'm glad he gets that I needed my distance for a bit because of the thing with my parents. I don't even know if we're totally okay right now, to be honest, because I'm still not sure if I wanna be with Simon when this is happening, but I..."

"You...?"

"I love Simon." Her voice is firm. Her eyes are watery; I think she might cry. "I love him. I just don't think I trust myself right now, Clary. I trust him, because he's been nothing but loyal and supportive lately, which is what makes him Simon, but there's so much going on with my family. I don't know," she adds. "I just hope he can wait."

"Simon is in love with you," I say. It's a fact, like how humans need water to survive. Well, Simon loves Isabelle. It's just that simple. "He'll wait."

She looks relieved, reassured. "I kind of needed to hear you say that."

"You're welcome, then. Guess we're even for the whole Jordan thing."

"Not even close."

I sigh. "I'm kind of tired. And Jace and Jon are still with their dates, doing god knows what."

"Wait," Isabelle says, eyes wide. "Jace is _here_?"

"Guest bedroom," is my way of confirming it. "Why?"

"You're so cool with it."

"Might be because he saw me right after I made out with Jordan and, well, it was pretty good."

"I don't know how you don't wanna rip his head off every time you see him," Izzy says to me. "He was an asshole to you."

I shrug. I do want to rip his head off sometimes. Hell, most of the time. And when I see him through my bedroom window, looking happy or with a date in his room or being totally at ease, I want to slap him senseless. Because while he's enjoying himself, when I see him having moments like that, memories of how I felt during the winter come rushing back to me, and it's like they never left.

Just because you don't know someone personally, just because you don't miss them physically, doesn't mean it hurts less. Missing him and wondering what I'd done wrong was the worst thing that could've happened to me. I felt like I was awful, because, if someone who claimed to like me suddenly stopped talking to me, what's there to say that people would stick around?

"I'm gonna go back home," Isabelle says to me. "But call me when you wanna hang, okay?"

"Will do."

Isabelle, as always, lets herself out. I'm tired, but my mind isn't quite there with my body. I put in my headphones and, despite everything that's happened in the past couple of hours, listen to my iPod while doing math homework.

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think! xo<em>


	12. Chapter 11

_Hi, guysss. First of all, I wanna say that this is totally a Clace story. The endgame is Clace. It's their story. But that doesn't mean that they won't be with other people. :) However, yeah, it's Clace. Also, I'm extremely aware of how repetitive/boring the stalemate can be, but I've said it before and I'll say it again: it will last for a while. It needs to be there. It needs to build up until one of them snaps-and, because they're incredibly stubborn, it'll take a while. However, I can tell you that there will be a good part of the story dedicated to the aftermath of that confrontation. You'll get to see them growing more comfortable around each other, becoming friends, etc. It won't just revolve around this horrible stage they're going through right now, but this stage is a huge part of how they come to see each other later on, so it's important. **Also, I hope I'm not coming across as someone who's offended by comments like these. I just wanted to clarify both, since they were made by guest reviewers and I couldn't reply directly. I appreciate and welcome all kinds of comments. :)_

_I'd like to thank my beta and friend, Katwood5, for working on this chapter. She's going through a tough time, so please send her good vibes/pray for her/etc. :) I hope you enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

><p>Monday morning comes by too fast. I wake up with a headache, and my brother delivers the oh-so-wonderful news to me: his car won't start, so Jace is giving us a ride.<p>

I want to shoot myself.

I make sure to take my iPod with me, because if I have to listen to my brother and his best friend talk about soccer and banging chicks the entire ride to school, I might as well stab myself in the ears, too, to start the bleeding early. I text Isabelle and let her know what happened, and she apologizes for not being able to give me a ride; she's not going to school today because there's a court hearing her parents are going to and Max is sick, so she has to watch him.

I take an apple from the kitchen counter and decide to eat it on the way to school. We're late, anyway. My brother makes his way outside, pushing past me without so much as an apology, and I glare at him. Mom and Luke get back this afternoon, finally. I get some peace and quiet and, quite possibly, less of Jace.

One can only dream.

Jace drives a Jeep. I ride in the back, eating my Apple and looking out the window while music makes its way into my ears.

_Who has to know? _

_When we live such fragile lives, _

_It's the best way we survive. _

_I go around a time or two, _

_Just to waste my time with you. _

I smile at the memory of this song. It's one of the ones I've liked since middle school, so it fills me with memories of sketching and Simon and I listening to it in his house when no one was home. I sigh. I've missed hanging out with Simon like that. A new song starts playing, making that train of thought disappear.

_You're my backbone, _

_You're my cornerstone, _

_You're my crutch when my legs stop moving. _

_You're my head start, _

_You're my rugged heart, _

_You're the pulse that I've always needed. _

I remember Simon showed me this song at the beginning of last year. That was when he told me he was falling in love with Isabelle, and I thought he was kind of crazy, but Simon's always been kind of crazy. He said, "Clary, I really, really, really like Izzy," and I smiled and said, "Si, you're nuts," and then we listened to this.

As the song ends and the next one begins, the car screeches to a halt. Startled, I realize we're here. It wasn't the worst car ride after all.

I climb out of the car, clutching my bag. I text Simon, asking him where he is, wondering if we can sneak in some time together before classes start. He asks me to meet him by my locker, and I do.

He looks happy. Like, radiant happy. He's bouncing up and down, wiggling his eyebrows, the whole deal. I raise my eyebrows as I draw close, laughing at my best friend. "What is it?"

"Isabelle told me she loved me last night."

"Dude!"

"I know," he says, grinning. "I mean, I knew she felt it, but hearing her say it...it's like I can finally breathe again."

I smile. "I'm so happy for you, Si."

"Izzy told me about Jordan, by the way."

"Of course she wouldn't leave that part out." I gather the books I need for the first couple of periods and shut my locker door. "Look, Simon, before you get all protective and crap—"

"I'm not," he tells me, much to my surprise. "I trust that you can kick this guy's ass if he breaks your heart. And Izzy made a good point about you two."

"Let me guess," I say, walking with him towards our homeroom, "it's about Jace, isn't it? About how Jordan will help me get over it?"

"Yep. And I think she's right."

"I think there's nothing to get over, but if that'll help you like Jordan, then sure. Totally." I grin. "I'm glad you're cool with it."

"Sure. He's a cool guy. Likes _Lord of the Rings. _I approve."

I roll my eyes, but it makes me happy. Even though Jordan and I aren't anything official, Simon and Isabelle seem to like him, and the approval of those two is basically all I need. You know, aside from my mom's approval. And Luke's. Whatever.

We spend the rest of the time talking about me going over to his house to play the new Mario Kart game before the bell rings. Sadly, Simon only transferred to this homeroom this semester (the teacher handling his old homeroom was fired, so they split up all the kids into different homerooms, and Simon asked if he could be in mine), so the only seat available is on the other side of the room. His presence, however, is reassuring enough.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. Isabelle keeps texting me about how bored she is, and I reply sneakily, in class or between classes or in the bathroom or during breaks, and Simon complains about his math test and "stupid AP US History."

Which, obviously, is where things start to get interesting.

Our teacher, says the substitute standing in front of the room, is sick. Very sick. So she'll be absent for a couple of days, but she's left us a group activity. We need to join into groups of fours and work on the lessons for the chapter we started last week, and then, after that, we need to pick a term and do an in-depth presentation on it.

Awesome.

The substitute starts picking the teams, and I realize with absolute horror that he's doing it by where we're sitting. He picks the people forming a square—the first two people of the first two rows—and puts them together, and so on.

Which, sadly, means that I'm stuck with Simon, Isabelle, and Jace freakin' Wayland.

I text Isabelle all about the assignment quickly, and we start working in silence. I skim through my book until I find the chapter. We're supposed to do the lesson reviews. Thankfully, this chapter has four lessons. "We can split 'em up," I say. "Isabelle can do one, Simon can do two, Jace can do three, and I can do four. Unless one of you has a problem with it, of course." I try to keep my voice casual, but I think everyone can sense the awkwardness and the tension in the group.

"I'm cool with it," says Jace with a smile.

"Same," Simon replies. "Did you text Izzy?"

"Done. She's coming over to my house later to work on it," I say, which is also code for _she wants to escape her parents and has figured out a way to do it while simultaneously helping her education_.

We work on our respective lessons. I finish early and start doing Isabelle's—not because I don't think my friend can't do it, but because I can't stand sitting back and having to watch Jace work in silence. I could also focus on Simon, but god knows that's not possible with Jace sitting beside me. He's like a walking spotlight: even if you don't like him, you can't help but notice him. He just has that energy.

And I hate it.

"Si, if you're coming over to my house, do you mind giving me a ride?"

He gives me a strange look. "Sure. I'll have to talk to Rebecca, though, 'cause I think she's borrowing my car today. Which means I might not get to go to your house."

"I didn't know she was in town," I say, not unpleasantly. His sister's nice enough. She's as familiar as Simon and his mom are, because I've been hanging out at his house since I was a little kid.

"Yeah. Anyway, I'll text her right now."

"Thanks." I smile. "Isn't your sister still taking classes, though?"

"Her only class for tomorrow was cancelled, and she needed to do laundry, so...that happened."

"Tell her I say hey," I say, thinking of how long it's been since I've seen Rebecca. I kind of don't even remember her face. All I know is that she has Simon's brown hair and brown eyes, but, aside from that, her face is kind of a blur. It's probably been, like, three, four years. "How excited is she to graduate?"

"Very. She already got accepted into graduate school."

"Really? Where?"

"California."

"Holy crap." I'm smiling. "She's so lucky."

"I know." Simon closes his book and notebook. "I'm done." Just then, he checks his phone. "Sorry, Clary. Rebecca needs the car."

"It's okay." I wave him off. "Has Izzy said anything to you about her parents being back?"

"Nope."

"It sucks that she's stuck with Max right now."

"It sucks that Max is sick," Simon says.

"Man," I tell him. "You really _are _in love with her."

His cheeks redden.

"Let me know when your sister's back in town," I say. "I do miss her."

"She misses you, too. Always asking if we ever managed to date."

I choke. "Oh my God."

"There are," he says, "worse things in the world."

"Totally."

"Kind of getting insulted here."

"I love you."

Jace closes his book; I almost forgot he's here. "I'm done."

"Awesome." I look at them both, my best friend and the guy I once considered to be something else. Something special, maybe. "So we need to find a way to kill time for the rest of the week."

"There's always the term thing," Simon says.

"Do we do that at home, or do we wait and do it here?"

"Seeing as this could potentially turn into nap time, I'm gonna say do it at home and then use this time to chill," Jace says. I hate how right he is. "That is, if it's okay with you."

Slowly, I nod. Simon does, too, clearly relieved that I've agreed. He would stick with me against Jace if I asked him to. It's the only way I know that he's my best friend in the entire world. And Izzy, too.

"So where do we meet up?" Simon asks.

"My house, I guess," I tell him. "Tomorrow?"

The boys nod.

There are only ten minutes until the period ends, and, naturally, Simon's decided that this is a perfectly good time to ask Jace about his life—a subtle interrogation. "So," he says, "you play soccer with Jon, right?"

"Yeah." Jace nods. "We have a game on Thursday."

"Is it at a different school?" I ask.

He nods. "Half an hour away."

"So you're leaving early," I state.

"Yep."

"Good luck," says Simon, saving me from making an idiot out of myself and possibly hurting Jace's ego. "Really."

"Thanks." Jace gives him a weird look, but says nothing.

The bell rings, and I stand up, making my way to my last period. Thank God. I don't think I could handle more classes with Jace. The fact that he's in one of them makes me want to scream. He's so frustratingly perfect, so much like the guy I met last fall. Except the guy I met last fall was a lie, and he is not the guy that sits in front of me in AP US History and lives next door. That's a different guy. I hate that guy.

By the end of the day, I'm exhausted. Jace, sadly, is my ride. I recognize his car from where he parked it this morning, and I walk over to it, ignoring the looks some girls give me as I approach it. Of course they have his car memorized. Fucking ridiculous.

"Alright, we have practice at four," says Jace as a way of greeting me, "so I'm dropping you off really quickly."

"Fine by me."

I climb into the passenger seat. I would climb into the back, but my mother's always told me that it's rude to sit in the back of a car when it's just one other person besides you. So, with that in mind, I find myself sitting next to Jace, my headphones in.

_I'm still in love with who I wish you were_

_And I wish you were here _

I change the song; it reminds me too much of the snow falling down and waiting around for emails that would never come. It reminds me of jokes I can't find my way back to. It reminds me of him.

But, suddenly, I can't find a song that doesn't remind me of him. Every song describes something that my mind immediately connects to him, and I feel like I'm drowning in something, so I just pull out my headphones and take a deep breath, hoping to steady my fast-beating heart.

"Are you okay?" Jace asks, eyes still on the road.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah. Fine."

"You don't sound fine."

"I _am_. God. Is your job to be professionally annoying? Because if so, then you're really damn good at it." I glare at him and turn away, hoping my words hurt. I know I'm being rude. I'm aware that I should probably consider his feelings or whatever, but there's a part of me that says _to hell with his feelings; he didn't consider yours last fall, and he left you hanging, and how could he leave you hanging like that? _That voice is enough to make me want to hate him.

"I was just worried," he says, voice tight.

"Well, don't be. I'm old enough to take care of myself, and you're not my brother, or my dad, or Simon, so don't pretend like you can make me feel okay when something's wrong."

"Right." His voice stays tight. "Sorry I even tried."

"Apology accepted."

He pulls up in front of my house. Wordlessly, I slip out of the car, slamming the door as hard as I can—which, of course, isn't very hard. My backpack is slung over my shoulders, and I try not to feel too bad as I enter my house.

* * *

><p>"It's like I can't help but be mean to him," I say, chewing on a piece of celery. "I can't even control it anymore. The words just come stumbling out, like my mind's programmed to hate him, and I just—I feel like crap about it when it's done, but it feels right when I'm saying the words to him. You know?"<p>

She sighs. Isabelle, who's working on our history assignment, flips over so she's lying down on her back. "Yeah. Listen, I think it's normal that you're being like this to him. He did, after all, kind of let you down. Big time. And he hasn't apologized. So I really don't think that what you're doing is that bad."

I sigh. "But it feels bad."

"So don't do it."

"This is so frustratingly complicated," I declare, flopping down on my back. "He's coming over tomorrow so we can all work on the project, but I said some pretty mean stuff to him earlier, Iz. I couldn't even believe myself. I know I don't like him—I probably even hate him—but it was just..." I let my voice trail off and shake my head. "I don't like being a mean person, but with him, I can't help it."

She nods, black hair spilling around her head and on her shoulders. "I know what you mean. Like I said, it's not bad. It's healthy for you to let it out. But," she adds, "you two have to talk about what's happening. You can't hate him forever. You won't want to, from the looks of it."

She's right, of course. The last thing I want, despite the fact that my heart is broken, is to act that way towards him—or anyone, really, because the way I act is partly about him and partly about me. I don't want to be mean. I'm still mad, and I don't know if I could ever trust him, or if I could ever like him, but the things I said were just...I don't know, too much. Even for him.

"I just wish I could stop myself from being like this. But one song, or one thing that reminds me of him, and I go crazy." I sigh, ignoring the ache in my throat. It usually means I'm going to cry, and I don't want to cry. Outside, it's raining, and the boys are at Jace's house with a couple of other teammates.

"Is that what happened today? Something reminded you of him and you just...exploded?" Izzy isn't judging me, though. She's looking at me with a look that has pity and sadness and, somehow, sympathy.

I nod, meeting her eyes. "It was just this one song, this stupid song that reminded me of what it was like when I was missing him or whatever, and suddenly being in a car with him was too much, and I was feeling too much, and I needed to say something, and, God, I'm a horrible person." Tears make my eyes sting, but I wipe at them, swearing to myself that I won't let them fall. I hate crying.

Isabelle turns on my iPod; music is now playing in the background, but softly. My window's shut, but my shades are open, and I can see the inside of Jace's room. It's so clean, and I wonder if he ever gets disgusted by the insane mess that is my brother's room. Hell, my room looks like a hurricane passed through it compared to his, and I consider myself a more-or-less neat person.

"You're not," she says to me. "And thinking about it isn't going to make you feel all that wonderful, either."

"You're right." I shake my head. "I can't stop thinking about it, though."

_I want a love like this, _

_Won't you show me a love like that? _

_Oh, oh, oh, _

_They say that love's a bitch, _

_Read my lips, _

_I've waited all my life for a bitch like this. _

"I don't know what to tell you, Clary," she says, not unkindly. "I want to tell you to be nice and strong and to march up to Jace Wayland and tell him that you need to talk, and I want to tell you to tell him how you feel and get it all out before it eats you up from the inside, but I know you won't do it because it's scary, which I totally understand, but still. I guess my point is that nothing I say will be what you want me to say."

I'm vaguely aware of the song playing in the background changing, but I don't register which song plays next, because I'm focusing on her words. _Nothing I will say will be what you want me to say_. She's right, of course, because Isabelle Lightwood is almost never wrong, and somehow she manages to know a lot about relationships while only having been in one serious one—the one she's currently in.

"I know," I say. "I'm sorry. I know I should listen. I know I should go to Jace and tell him how I feel. I know I shouldn't keep this bottled up, because it _is _killing me, but I can't. I see him, and I see a guy who has the power to bring up all those feelings again, and I can't. Not when I have this new thing with Jordan." It's a lame excuse, but an excuse nonetheless.

_I walk this lonely road, _

_The only one that I have ever known. _

I turn off my iPod.

"You and Jordan, huh?" It's a very unsubtle way of changing the topic, but I allow it, mostly because I'm craving the new topic nearly as much as she is. "How's that going?"

"He texted me last night to ask me how I was and all," I say, knowing that my cheeks are as red as my hair, that what Jordan and I did is written all over my face. "I think he's coming over soon."

"So he hasn't invited you to his apartment?"

"Not exactly. It's not like I can go, anyway, and I'm fine with him coming over."

"Clary, it's his apartment. Come on."

"Maybe I _do _want him to invite me over a little," I admit. "But it's okay if he doesn't. We haven't known each other that long, and I've mostly invited him over because I needed a distraction, and I like Jordan, and I wouldn't have gotten in trouble for it that night."

"Whatever." Izzy flips her hair over her shoulder. Her phone makes a noise. She rolls her eyes. "My mom keeps asking when I'll be back. I think she wants me to take care of Max, which I totally don't wanna do."

"Are you going to school tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Max's fever went down by noon, and Mom keeps telling me he's doing better, so I'm guessing I'll be free tomorrow. Or, you know, she can hire a sitter."

"Don't be too hard on her," I tell Izzy. "I know it's hard for you, but it's also hard for her. She's—she's losing a husband, and Alec is gone, and I guess that's the kind of thing that would hurt."

Isabelle closes the history book. "Done," she says. "And I guess. I'm trying not to be hard on her, but she keeps expecting me to do all of these things, and I haven't been on a date with Simon—like, a proper one that lasts for over two hours—in forever. Mom keeps asking me to babysit Max or help her with work or whatever, and I need a break."

I take the last celery from my plate and lie down beside her, my head propped up by the insane amount of pillows on my bed. "You should talk to her about it. It's only the beginning of the week, but maybe you can stay over this weekend or something. You can go out with Simon whenever you want and all."

"Thanks," she says. "I'll try to talk to her, but she acts like she's PMS'ing all the time, and it's so freakin' difficult to get a word out without her calling me inconsiderate."

"It's a hard time for the whole family, Iz," I remind her. I feel like the worst best friend when I remind her of these things, but it's like she said earlier when she told me that the words she would say were not going to be the ones I wanted to hear. The whole thing is just a huge, stinkin' mess. "You just have to be patient."

She snorts. "Yeah, right." Her phone rings, and she looks like she wants to throw it out the window and into the rain. She picks it up, though, and the conversation consists of "Hey, Mom," and, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay, fine, yeah," and a very tired-looking Isabelle hanging up. "I have to go."

"You know that Simon and I can babysit with you whenever you want, right? If you need anything, you can call or text or whatever." I stand up.

"I know. And you're the best for it, too."

I smile. "I'll walk you out."

We walk in silence. Once we're out in the hallway, the front door bursts open, revealing Jace. I raise an eyebrow in Izzy's direction, my insides knotting up. I play it considerably cool under the circumstances. I mean, here I am, wanting nothing more than to open my mouth to either insult him or apologize, and I do neither. I walk Isabelle to the door, ignoring the blond-haired boy standing a few feet away from me, and hug my best friend.

"Don't do anything you'll regret," she whispers. Louder, she says, "I'll let you know about this weekend."

"Okay," I tell her. "And if you need me to babysit while you and Simon go out, just bring Max over whenever, okay? I don't think—I mean, I haven't made any plans so far, so let me know."

"Thanks, Fray."

"Bye, Lightwood."

I shut the door; the wind is making the front steps slightly wet, light droplets of rain falling on the wooden floor and on the welcome mat. As soon as I turn around, Jace is there, hoodie pulled up to cover his hair and neck. I curse his friendship with my brother for the millionth time.

I step into the kitchen and grab a water bottle, the words begging to come out. I don't know _which _words yet is the problem, because they can be good, or they can be very, very bad. Like, insanely bad. I don't want to assume that my words have hurt him in a way he hasn't forgotten, but they'd certainly affect me if they were spoken to me, which sucks.

"Jace," I say, trying to make my voice sound soft. I'm used to speaking to him in a way that will make him look like he's been slapped, so making my voice gentler is a challenge. "Listen, I'm sorry." There, I said it. And while there's a part of me that feels like what I've said should be taken back immediately, there's a bigger part of me that means it. _This is neutral ground right now. No songs, nothing that will remind me of last year. _

"It's fine," he says, voice harsh. Clearly it's not.

I shut my eyes. I can either take his half-assed reassurance and go upstairs and lie to myself and pretend that everything's okay, or I can tell him that I see right through his bullshit, and that I'm sorry.

I, for some reason, opt for the former.

"Cool," I say, and I turn around, gripping the water bottle until my knuckles are white. It makes a crinkling sound under my grip. Despite my deep breaths and big gulps of water, I feel sick, like I ate something bad or I've reached the drop on a roller-coaster. I turn off the light to my room, set my alarm for an hour, and sleep.

The rain has stopped by the time my alarm wakes me up. The moon is shining, but there are no stars; clouds cover them, as if to say that there's still a chance of rain.

My brother's home, and so are my parents. I hear them all speaking downstairs, and I consider going down, but I look like shit and I feel like shit, so I turn on the light, wincing at the sudden brightness, and look out the window.

Jace has his lights on, too. He's working on something—homework or whatever. I think about earlier, about how he said he was fine when he clearly wasn't, and I realize that I can't trick myself into believing I'm going to be a better person unless I talk to him. Like, at least a little.

So I send him a text. _Open your window. _I lock my bedroom door.

A few moments later, he does. He sits in it, legs dangling. He looks fearless; the breeze whips his hair around, and he's in need of a haircut, but he's wearing a long-sleeved shirt the color of the night's sky, and it makes him look like a badass. I sit in my window, too.

"What's up?" he asks, sounding bored.

"I know you lied earlier," I say. "When you said you were fine. And I guess I'm not asking for forgiveness, because I definitely don't deserve it, and I kind of don't want it, because there are things—" I cut myself off, taking a deep breath. "I'm not asking for forgiveness, Jace. I'm just asking for honesty. Like, if you're not fine because I've been a total dick? Say it. It might not stop me from being one—because, believe me, I still want to say offensive things to you, and I can't exactly stop myself, and it sucks, and I'm sorry—but at least you'll be honest." I know what I'm really telling him: _I hate it when you lie. I hate that you've been lying to me for weeks now, and I hate that you lied to me last year, and I hate that I still care. _

He looks at me, eyebrows raised, for what feels like forever. "I did lie. Sort of. I mean, you were right about some stuff. I, for example, am very aware that I'm not Jonathan, or your brother, or Simon. And my job, by the way, is to be professionally good looking and, at times, when required, extremely charming, so you were wrong about that." He smirks. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's fine because I don't care what you think of me."

My breath catches in my throat. I feel like I'll be sick. Of course he doesn't give a shit. He hasn't, not for the longest time, and I feel like the world's biggest idiot for believing that he would care about someone like me. Or about anyone, really. "Right." I go back into my bedroom. "Well, good luck with that. And, if it isn't obvious, I take back my apology."

I slam my window shut and close the blinds.

* * *

><p><em>Just in case anyone's interested, here are the songs in order of appearance: <em>

_Dirty Little Secret - The All-American Rejects  
>Gone, Gone, Gone - Phillip Phillips<br>Wish You Were - Kate Voegele (probably spelled her last name wrong-whoops)  
>Love Like This - The Summer Set<br>Boulevard of Broken Dreams - Green Day_

_Let me know what you think of this chapter! xo_


	13. Chapter 12

_Hey, guys! Sorry for skipping an update; I've been really busy this week. I took an 8-hour-long test today (!) and I'm basically dead and have been in bed ever since. (And eating whipped cream. And watching stuff on Netflix.) Anyway, here's chapter 12! Thank you so much to all of you for reading, and special thanks to Katwood5 for beta'ing. :) _

* * *

><p>The next morning, after I took out my anger by drawing Jace dying in a bunch of different ways, I have to face him again.<p>

My brother's car's getting fixed, so, sadly, Jace is still my ride. I would call Isabelle, but she texted me last night to tell me that Max had a nightmare at three in the morning and she had to stay up with him until four, so she's exhausted. I'd text Simon, but I'm not sure if he has his car or if Becky has it, so I just roll my eyes and swallow my hatred and climb into Jace's car.

I listen to my music on the way to school. I try to find things that won't remind me of him. Shuffle's no longer a thing I can do, because I'll be okay and then a song will pop up and it'll feel like someone's sitting on my chest.

We get to the school in record time; as always, I'm the first one out of the car. Simon, as usual, waits for me by my locker. I throw myself into his arms. I told him everything that had happened with Jace, and how I felt, and he told me he owed me a giant-ass hug, so this is it, I guess, because we're hanging on to each other like our lives depend on it. He smells like home, and I don't want to think about Jace anymore. I feel kind of lost, but I shake it off.

"You okay, Fray?" He searches for something in my eyes once we pull away.

I nod. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"I could tell by the death grip you had on my jacket."

I roll my eyes and get my books out of my locker. "I'm fine, Lewis. I'm just...tired, I guess. Didn't sleep too well."

"Yeah, Izzy woke me up at four in the morning so I could convince Max that monsters are, in fact, not real." He gives me a smile. "I love that kid, but seriously, I need my sleep."

"She woke you up?" I'm grinning now, my problems momentarily out of my mind. "She actually managed to wake you up?"

"I know what you're gonna say—"

"You're whipped," I tell him, laughing.

"I am _not_—"

"You so are." I bump his shoulder. "And I love it."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Where _is _my girlfriend, anyway?"

I shrug. "I hope she makes it today, though, because if I have to sit through another day of you and Jace in AP US History, I'll jump out the window."

"I thought I did pretty well. You know, with the questions."

I shake my head. "No. And what was up with that, by the way?"

He shrugs. "I just wanted to make conversation. Not like you were too well with that."

"Bull. You were questioning him, for some reason."

"Okay, so I happened to ask a couple of questions, but that doesn't matter." He pauses. "He's coming over to your house today, right?"

"Right. Also, he's there all the time, so this really should make no difference."

"Only you're pissed at him," Simon reminds me, "so you're probably gonna insult him until his ears bleed. Which I'm not condoning, by the way."

"Simon—"

"Clary." He stops and turns around to face me, placing his hands on my shoulders. "I love you. You're, like, my best friend. But what you're doing—the things you say to him—it's not right. I know you're mad, and I know you have a right to be, but you need to tone it down."

"I tried," I tell him. "And then he just made me mad again. He reminded me that, yeah, I've always cared more about him, and that I'm delusional for thinking that he cared about me. That he was honest."

His face softens. "I'm sorry you had a crush on a dickhead."

"Simon!"

"But," he adds, "you need to be the better person. Insult him when you're with us. Hell, Izzy and I can hate him enough for the whole world, just as long as you don't go on your insult rants and end up blowing our AP US History grades and sending them to hell."

I roll my eyes. "I'm feelin' the love."

He grins. "I'm serious. About all of it."

"I know."

That's the thing about our friendship: it's the only sure thing in my life. Any second, my brother can hate me or leave for college or just be his generally shitty self, or my mom and Luke could get a divorce, or their store could go to shit, or my grades could fall apart, or Jordan could decide that he doesn't wanna waste his time with me. Lots of things could happen. But my friendship with Simon and Izzy is one of the only things in my life that I see lasting forever. I love them like they love me: unconditionally. We're willing to do anything for each other. Isabelle and Simon hate the same people I hate. When I hate them enough for a person, the two combined can hate them with the power of a thousand suns. They're supportive, and honest, and kind, and loyal, and they're my best friends, and I know that most people say that their high school friendships end up going to shit, and that things fall apart as quickly as they can come together, but I don't see me without seeing those two. They're a part of me, like my brain or my heart or my limbs.

The bell rings, and we head over to our homeroom. Isabelle bursts in just before the tardy bell rings, making her way over to the seat in front of me. "Hey," she says. She blows a kiss in Simon's direction—he's back to sitting all the way on the other end of the room—and he grins at her. I love them, but they are disgusting. In a cute way.

"Hi," I say, raising an eyebrow at what I just witnessed. "What's up?"

She sighs. "Mom left Max with a sitter, thank God. I can come over today to work on the term thing, and then Simon and I are getting coffee somewhere."

"Finally," I say. "A date."

"Only it won't be a proper date, because it'll only be coffee and making out in my car."

I frown. "That _is _a date."

"A proper date, to me, is like a dinner date. Dinner and a movie and making out and dropping you off properly, with a kiss." She shakes her head. "It's because that's the way Simon works. Only we haven't had a dinner and movie date in two weeks, and I'm going crazy."

I roll my eyes. "You're as whipped as he is."

"Am _not_," she hisses.

"Are too."

I don't hear her response. It's drowned out by the sound of the bell that signals that homeroom is over, and off we go to first period.

The day has officially begun.

* * *

><p>The day was crappy, but in the way that school days are crappy. It was uneventful, and AP US History was a bunch of texting under our seats and really bad, generic conversation. I don't mind, though, because at least Jace didn't talk to me or bring up what happened yesterday, and my best friends kept me from insulting him, like, twenty times. That's probably not an exaggeration; I was on fire, coming up with retorts that would've made my brother proud.<p>

By the time I get home, I'm exhausted. Simon and Isabelle give me a ride, and I tell them I need to nap, need to gather my strength if I want to spend an entire hour or so making a presentation with a guy whose guts I hate. So I take a one hour nap, and I still feel like shit when I wake up, but I serve myself some food and a drink and, by the end of it, I don't feel like hurling myself out the nearest window in hopes of a tragic, yet not insanely painful, death. So, I mean, there's that.

My brother and Jace get home at around the same time Simon is trying to teach Isabelle how to play Mario Kart. He told me he wanted to start small and asked if he could try to do it here, and all it's been so far is Isabelle screaming when she doesn't win first place. Which, sadly, happens every single time she plays. Isabelle sucks at video games.

Jon raises his eyebrows at the sight of us. I'm recording Isabelle, and Simon is trying to soothe her, and she won't have any of it. "I see you're trying to teach Izzy things."

"Fuck you, Jon."

The corners of his lips quirk upward. "Nice to see you still have that spark, Lightwood."

"Alright, guys." I stand up and shut off the Wii. "We need to go work."

"Finally," Isabelle says, at the same time Simon says, "But she was just getting the hang of it!"

I roll my eyes. "Come on."

We make our way upstairs and into my room. It's me, then Simon, then Isabelle, then Jace, who might be checking out Izzy's ass. I open the door, thankful for the fact that I cleaned my room yesterday—and by "cleaned," I mean shoved all my dirty clothes inside empty drawers and crumpled up empty papers and candy wrappers and played basketball using those and the trash can.

I drop my things on the floor and tell them to sit wherever. They can take off their shoes, if they want. Jace says he's going to take a five-minute shower, says he smells like soccer and grass and sweat, so I let him walk away and get comfortable on my carpeted floor.

Isabelle and Simon are looking at me. "What?" I ask.

"We're proud of you," he says in a sing-song voice.

"Ugh," I reply, waving them off. "Please don't."

"Just keep it up."

"You're like the annoying parents I never had."

Isabelle rolls her eyes. "We're trying to be supportive."

"Okay, so you're like the annoying, try-hard parents I never had."

She throws up her hands in frustration and lies down on the bed. I'm pretty sure that, with the way Simon is looking at her, like he wants to kiss her and adore her forever, I shouldn't be here. Which is crazy, because this is my bedroom, but I remember that they haven't seen each other in, like, forever, so I make up an excuse about getting something to drink and leave my room.

Downstairs, my brother's watching TV; he already showered, and his hair is damp. It still looks blonde. "Hey," he says. "You guys done studying already?"

I roll my eyes. "We haven't even started. Jace is showering, and I left Iz and Simon alone, which means they're probably dry-humping on my bed." I wrinkle my nose. "Gross."

Jon laughs. "They're not that bad, actually. Not like you and that Jordan dude, anyway."

"Says the guy with the sex dates."

He gives me the finger, and I go up the stairs again. It's been three minutes, and, though I want to give them more time, I can't stand to be downstairs with my brother when he's gonna bring up Jordan and the wrongness of it all.

My phone rings in my hand, which gives me an excuse to stay outside. "Mom?"

"Hey, sweetie." My mom sounds tired, but a lot like my mom. "We're gonna be late again. There's a client coming in from Pennsylvania, and so we promised we'd stay until after hours and show him our art. He promises big money."

"It's fine." I wave her off, even though she can't see me. "Jace, Iz, and Simon are here; we're working on a school project. Jon's downstairs, and there are still leftovers in the fridge, so we're okay."

She sighs, obviously relieved. "Good. I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay. Love you," I tell her, and she says it back before hanging up.

I open the door to my bedroom. It doesn't matter that I gave them approximately five minutes to make out, that I went up and down the stairs extra slowly to drag out the time. They're making out. Izzy's on top of Simon's lap, and they're basically dry-humping. Lucky for me, this is the exact moment that Jace chooses to come in with a towel in hand, hair still damp from the shower. He raises his eyebrows.

"Are you two always like this?"

Izzy lets out a yelp and rolls off Simon, who looks annoyed at Jace.

They don't answer, though. Simon and Iz stay on the bed, and Jace and I plop down on the floor, keeping a safe distance from each other.

"So, which term are we doing? Speakeasy?" Jace asks.

"We can do the whole Hollywood Ten thing," Simon says, and then we spend two whole minutes debating which term to use until, finally, the term speakeasy wins.

We work in silence. I find pictures online of a speakeasy to sketch; everyone thought it'd show creativity if I did a colored sketch of one. They're all doing their respective research stuff, and I take out my sketchpad, praying to God or whoever is out there that no one sees my angry sketches from yesterday. Sure, I'd love to rub it in Jace's face that I totally don't care, but he might think I'm some sort of psychopath if he sees my very vivid sketches that basically outline his death. Like, multiple times. In different ways. Yay.

I start sketching the speakeasy. The bar is cramped up compared to the ones we see today, and I draw the outline of bottles lined up on shelves. The stools on the other side of where the alcohol is, lined up and cramped up, too. The wooden floors, a stage in the back for entertainment. The tables, the ones with wooden chairs and white tablecloths. I draw some booths in corners and leave a massive space in the middle, where the people would dance. This is just an outline, of course. I haven't started shading, and, after this, I have to re-draw the whole thing in color, anyway. And on a neater, possibly bigger piece of paper.

"Should I draw people?" I ask them, chewing on the end of my pencil. It's a bad habit I can't break.

Izzy shrugs. "Whatever you think is best. I lack artistic vision."

"I think you should, unless you're just trying to do the speakeasy as a sort of generic, vivid blueprint, like an architectural sketch. You should probably not draw people if that's what you're doing," says Simon.

"I agree with Simon." Jace jerks his head in my best friend's direction. "It all depends on you, I guess. Your style. All that."

"Real helpful, guys." I groan and put my head in my hands. "I'm getting something to drink. Do you guys want anything?"

"Water," Izzy says, and Simon asks for the same. Jace says he'll take some, too, after a moment's hesitation. I don't think too much about it. I bring up four water bottles, having already finished mine, and toss one at each of my friend's. Simon's rolls off the bed and hits the floor with a soft thud.

"Seriously, Simon," I say, exasperated.

He sticks out his tongue and goes back to work. I try to find my artistic vision. I mean, this is a fairly simple question, the one I'm asking myself—do I want people or not?—but for some reason I can't find myself with an answer. I'm too frustrated, the pent up anger making its way to my throat. I take a deep breath and several big gulps of water, and swallow it down. I think it's Jace. His presence is unnerving; it makes me want to cry, scream, or run around, or maybe even fling myself out the window to end this shit.

"Do you want me to play some music?" Simon asks, seeing me in my frustrated artist mode. "Your iPod's right—"

"Nah," I say, shaking my head. "I don't want music. I want silence. I just want a stupid answer to this stupid question."

"Do it with the people," Simon says.

I look at him—_really _look at him—and say, "I love you."

Just then, my phone rings again. I sigh, not even looking at the caller ID. It's probably my mom, checking in. "Hello?"

"Clary?" It's Jordan. My heart does a weird jump, and I'm pretty sure my cheeks are insanely red.

"Hey," I say, scrambling to get up. I hold up a finger and leave my room. "What's up?"

"I just got back from my afternoon class," he says, and I can picture his charming grin, and the warmth of him, and I want him here with me right now. "I was just wondering if you wanted to come over."

I go back into the room; I don't want my brother to overhear. "Right now?"

"It's okay if you can't," he says quickly.

"No, it's not that." I curse my freaking schedule and my sick AP US History teacher. "It's just that I'm working on a school thing right now. There are people over and everything. But, I mean, maybe in an hour and a half?"

"That sounds perfect."

"Awesome. Let me see if I can get a ride, and I'll text you."

"Okay. See you later, hopefully."

"Bye," I say, hanging up. "Hey, Iz, can I talk to you for a sec?"

She's trying to keep a straight face while she nods, but I can tell she's all but bouncing with excitement. We step outside, into the quiet hallway. It's darker than the rest of the house.

"So?" she asks eagerly.

"So," I say. "Can I have a ride to Jordan's apartment?"

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think! xo<em>


	14. Chapter 13

_Hey, guys! I almost forgot to update, because I had a lot of work to do today, but I remembereddd. Yaaay. Anyway, thank you very much for reading and reviewing (over 200 reviews!). You're all hella rad. I love you. _

_Also, thanks to Katwood5 for beta'ing, as always. Special thanks to IWriteNaked for being awesome and to spikeyhairgood for being super supportive and great to talk to and for writing a fic I'm super addicted to (Day Late Friend, which you should all read if you haven't). Anyway, thanks to all of you! _

_Also, if you haven't, you should totally check out my new one-shot, _I Saw New York and it Ruled. _Shameless self-promotion is the best. _

_I hope you like this chapter. :) _

* * *

><p>Jace leaves my house forty-five minutes after my phone call. By then, we're already done with everything. All I have left to do is my sketch properly on a cleaner piece of paper and, just like that, we're done. Ta-daaaa. But I guess I don't really care much about that.<p>

By the time Jace leaves, and I clean my room, and I take a shower, I'm shaking. I'm nervous. The truth is, Jordan is, like, super nice and adorable and considerate and likable, and those facts alone scare the crap out of me, because what if I make a mistake? What if I get trampled on like I did last fall?

The truth hits me like a ton of bricks, and it happens while I'm in the middle of my hot shower: what happened with Jace will follow me wherever I go. At first, I thought I'd get over it, because he's just a boy and I can get over boys, especially with Isabelle Lightwood as my best friend. I can get over him. I can. And I have. But, I mean, what he did to me, and the way I felt for the longest time, that won't change. That's still there, and it still hurts to think about, even now that I'm over Jace.

And Jordan is more important than Jace—that's why this worries me. Because I never kissed Jace. He never touched my skin, never explored my curves and the way my lips shaped his name. We didn't get to know each other in the way Jordan and I have, and I think that terrifies me, because it means that Jordan can hurt me twice as much as Jace did. He can _really _make it hurt.

And I, for one, don't wanna get hurt.

I exit my bathroom wearing a dress with floral patterns, my ankle boots, and a denim jacket. I brush my hair; it looks shockingly red against my pale skin, which makes my freckles more noticeable today. I sigh, giving up on my looks altogether, not bothering to wear makeup, and step into my room. Isabelle looks at me, makes a face of approval, and hands me my bag. It has my wallet, which has a condom and money and my license, my iPod, and some gum.

"I need to tell Jon I'm going out."

"I'll tell him you're coming over to mine. You take care of your parents," she tells me, disappearing into the hallway.

I call my mom, and she says it's fine if I go over to Izzy's as long as I'm back by nine thirty, because it's a school night. I agree, but that means I only have two hours with Jordan, assuming I get there by six thirty. It's already six, and there could be traffic. I hurry downstairs and tell Isabelle to hurry up.

We leave the house ten minutes after that. I sit up front with Izzy, who keeps telling me that it's okay if I don't want to have sex, but she put the condom in my wallet because it's better to be safe than sorry. She says that it's okay to tell him what I want and don't want, that it won't offend him. Jordan is nice, she says. I'll pick you up at eight thirty, she reminds me, unless you call me and tell me that something went wrong.

I say goodbye to her at the entrance of Jordan's apartment building. He's ready for me downstairs, wearing a grin as big as the moon, and I give him a sloppy kiss.

"Hi," I say, and I find that I've managed to miss him.

"Hey," he says.

His apartment is actually a lot cleaner than I thought it would be. He has an Xbox and a flat screen TV, and his kitchen is a decent size. There are two bedrooms; one of them is fairly small, while the other one, which I assume is his—duh—is pretty big, about the size of my parents' bedroom. It's a really nice apartment, and he keeps it so.

I drop my bag on the coffee table between the TV and the couch. "Is it okay if I leave this here?"

He nods. "No problem."

I sit down on the couch, waiting for him to join me. He does, and he's smiling as he does. "How was your day?"

"Good. Actually, the end of it was kind of sucky because of this art thing, but it was good anyway. How was yours?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Horrible job, boring classes." He smiles. "But it just got a lot better."

"I bet," I say, a little breathless, "you use that line on all the girls."

"Not on all of them," Jordan says, but he doesn't have to say it, because it worked on me.

I give him a kiss that starts out soft, innocent, but becomes stronger, carrying an urgency that I forgot I could feel. I find myself on his lap, my legs on either side of his hips, and I press them together—press our bodies together—to create friction. He moans, his grip on the back of my neck tightening. It doesn't hurt, not at all. My hands are on either side of his neck, too. When his hand slips down and touches my butt, I can't help but let out a moan, which only encourages him. His hands travel down my thighs, exploring, and then going back up, traveling up my back. I love the way my skin feels on fire when it touches his. It isn't, I realize, the way Isabelle has described making out with Simon to me, but a) we're different people, so _duh_, and 2) I don't wanna think about the two of them making out while I make out.

Jordan unzips my dress and tugs down the upper part, revealing a plain black bra I've owned for a week now. I don't have anything sexy or with lace like Iz does, but I figured it doesn't matter. Jordan stops kissing me, and he's looking at me, and he says, "You're beautiful," and I kiss him hard and fast, like the world might fall apart if I don't, like things will stop making sense unless my lips are crushing his and his hands are touching my skin.

He loses his shirt moments after, and he presses a kiss to my neck, then to my lips, and then down to my collarbone. He travels up and down, leaving sloppy kisses everywhere, and I smile. We're still pressed up tightly against each other, only (most of) our upper bodies are touching now. I know what comes next, and, despite the confidence he's brought me, I'm scared.

"We don't have to if you don't want to. I mean," he says, stumbling on his words, "you can stop me whenever, and I'll be fine with it."

I smile as I kiss him and unclasp my bra. I don't let him see me first, just press myself up against him, kissing him. He's breathing hard and fast, and I finally let him see.

He stares at me, says I'm beautiful twice, and gives me a kiss that makes everything fade away. I unbutton his jeans, and he groans against my lips. I roll off his lap for a second; he takes them off so fast it's crazy. I'm back on his lap again, and I take off the rest of my dress, dropping it on the floor. It doesn't make a sound. My heart is beating wildly against my chest. I think I'm not breathing.

Jordan starts kissing me again, his hands roaming my body, and I keep thinking that this is happening. Like, really happening. I'm not wearing a bra, just panties, and he's only in his boxers. My legs are wrapped around his waist, and I'm kissing him with everything I have, and then he says, "Maybe we should take this to my bedroom, where it'll be more comfortable," and I know I somehow agree, because he's gripping me tightly, my boobs bouncing against his chest. I hear him breathe in; even his breathing is shaky.

He lays me down gently on the bed. I smile at him, a quick, reassuring smile, and I feel like it's more for him than it is for me. I know he's not a virgin, and he knows I am, and it's all sort of a mess, and now I'm nervous.

"If you don't want to," he whispers, "we don't have to."

"I want to," I tell him. I do. I don't think I've wanted anything this badly in a long time. There's a voice in the back of my head, one that tells me I don't love Jordan, one that asks me whether or not I should wait for the "right person," for the person I fall in love with.

I shut that voice up while Jordan puts on his condom. I want this. I do. I look at Jordan, at his warm eyes and face, and feel the way he kisses me, and I like the way I'm on fire when he touches me, and I want this more than anything in the world.

* * *

><p>I glance at the clock on the nightstand, my eyes groggy. It's eight thirty; Isabelle's supposed to be here in fifteen minutes. I've been asleep for, like, an hour. Jordan is next to me, and he stirs when he feels me move.<p>

After we had sex, he asked me if I was okay, if I was hurting. I said no, but it did hurt a little bit. I feel like it should be different, even though I knew that it wouldn't be the most fucktastic experience in the universe. I'm a virgin, after all, and it's okay if it was uncomfortable. I know it wasn't good for Jordan, at least not as good as it could have been, and that thought leaves me feeling hollow inside.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice as groggy as I feel. "What time is it?"

"I have to leave in fifteen minutes," I tell him, avoiding his other questions.

He opens one eye, then the other. "Okay. Do you want anything to drink? Wanna shower?"

I nod. "Shower."

He goes out to get me a towel, and I slip on his t-shirt and gather my clothes from the living room. Jordan points me in the direction of the bathroom and leaves me to shower. The water's hot, and my skin's sensitive. It wasn't bad, having sex. It wasn't the best, but not bad. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my heart. It's okay, I tell myself, and I finish showering in ten minutes.

I send Isabelle a text, telling her to give me an extra ten minutes. I drink some of the tea Jordan made, and we sit next to each other on the couch.

He starts. "If I hurt you—"

"You didn't," I tell him, smiling. "I'm okay, Jordan, it's just—it's a lot. You know?"

He nods. "As long as you're okay."

My stomach flutters. "I promise."

He gives me a quick kiss and takes my now-empty mug. I text Isabelle, telling her I'll be down now, and she says she's waiting. "I have to go," I remind Jordan.

"I'll walk you down," he says, and I'm too tired to argue. I grab my bag and follow him out.

Isabelle is waiting for me in her car. It's just her, no Simon, which is good, because her eyes widen the moment she sees me. I give Jordan a quick kiss and step into the car, cheeks burning.

"Clarissa Adele Fray," she breathes. "You had sex."

"Yeah," I say. "That happened."

"Tell me everything," she demands.

I do.

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think! xo<em>


	15. Chapter 14

_Hey, guys! Here's the next chapter of CH. :) Special thanks to Katwood5 for beta'ing. :D I'd also like to thank IWriteNaked (for her general awesomeness), spikeyhairedgood (because she's also awesome and super rad), and DeathCabForMari (because you're my favorite in the family). Also, thank you all for reading and reviewing!_

_A few of you (not a lot of you, thankfully, but a few of you) were upset because Clary had sex with Jordan and not Jace. Listen, I know that, in the books (and in most fics), Clary loses her virginity to Jace. But I also know that just because she had sex with Jace doesn't mean that her virginity belonged to him (or to anyone, for that matter). She could've just as easily had sex with another guy. And, also, I'd just like to point out that, while many people stand up against Clary having sex with anyone but Jace, I never see anyone complaining about Jace not losing his v-card to Clary. So, yes. I just wanted to say that she could have had sex with whoever she wanted, because a person's virginity, first and foremost, belongs to them._

_Anyway, thanks again for reading! I hope you like this chapter. :) _

* * *

><p>The next morning, I'm kind of sore. It's both because I was a virgin and because, really, the whole thing last night took a physical toll on me, especially since my idea of exercise is going downstairs to the kitchen to get some food or a drink. I haven't taken PE in, like, four years.<p>

But anyway, I walk over to Jace's car with my backpack, and he looks at me funny when I climb in, like he can tell right away that something's different. I tell myself I'm being paranoid and look out the window.

My Imagine Dragons playlist is playing on the way to school. I can hear my brother's voice, faintly, along with Jace's. They're talking soccer strategies, and I'm suddenly reminded of Julia Stiles in _10 Things I Hate About You _and how she faked a strategy to get Heath Ledger's character out of detention. I have no idea why it pops into my mind; it just does.

My phone pings. _Hey, are you okay? _

It's Jordan. My stomach does the kind of flip it usually does when I'm about to do an oral presentation in front of thirty people. I can feel myself start to shake—I don't know whether it's from excitement or nerves—as I type back. _Hey. Yeah, I'm good. :) I just need some time and stuff, but don't worry about it. How are you? _

I cringe at my stupid-ass reply, but hit send anyway. He replies back fast. _Okay...I'm fine, just worried about you. I know losing your virginity must've been, I don't know, the sort of thing you need to think about a lot, and I hope you don't regret that we had sex. _

I smile as I type back. _Don't worry about me. I'm fiiiiine. In fact, we could make plans to meet up again, if you want. I didn't think losing my virginity would be special or anything, and you were a really good first. I'm not gonna say it was all amazing and great and fun and flowers and rainbows, but it was good for what it was (my first time, y'know). I don't regret it. _

I can't believe I'm typing in paragraphs. He's one of the only people I can do that with, the others being my mother (when I'm mad), Luke (again with the anger), my brother (and agaaaaaaain with the anger), and Izzy and Simon (about basically anything, ranging from anger to sadness to happy feelings to deep, philosophical discussions—though that mostly happens with Simon).

He takes a while this time, possibly because my message is superfuckinglong, but he eventually comes through. _If you say so. Do you wanna go get some coffee/watch a movie and then come over? I'm glad it wasn't a nightmare for you. I was really worried, you know, because I think you're great, and you're nice, and I wanted you to have a good first time. I don't regret it either. _

I'm grinning by the time we pull up at the school. _I don't regret it either. _I take my time getting out of the car, and my brother notices.

"Ooooh," he says in a high-pitched voice. "Clary's in loooooove."

I smack him, hard. "Shut up, Jon."

"Still the same under the flowers and rainbows, I see."

I roll my eyes at him and walk ahead, head bent down as I type back a reply. _Coffee/watching a movie sounds awesome, and so does going over to yours. It was very much not a nightmare. It was good once I got used to it. I think you're great and nice and sweet, and I'm glad that you were my first time. Really. So, when should we do this whole coffee/moving/going over thing, anyway? _

I almost walk into Simon and Isabelle, who are waiting for me by my locker. Last night, when I got home, my mother didn't suspect a thing. All she said was that I seemed happy, and then she wrapped her arms around me and said she was sorry for being gone so long and so often, but that the business was sucky and any potential costumer was a good one and worth sacrificing family time for, because we need the money. I nodded, because I understood, and I never really minded. My mom and I are close in the way that she can tell me things she can't tell Jon, like how my dad was abusive and a bastard and that's why, after he died, my mom changed our last names to Fray.

She and I watched TV for a while, and then she said she was tired. She said she'd be home this weekend, because Luke's taking care of the store this time. She gave me a kiss on my forehead and off she went, to sleep and dream and try not to be as exhausted as she is.

I blink. "Hi, guys."

"Hey, Clary." Izzy beams at me. "What's up?"

I glare at her. "My mom's going to be home this weekend, so there's that."

"Dude," she says. "That sucks."

"Why?" Simon asks, confused. "I mean, I know you kind of miss your mom, Clary, and Mrs. Fray—Garroway, whatever—is really not that bad—"

"Because." I drop my voice, deciding that a) I don't want half of the school to find out what happened between Jordan and me last night, and b) it's about time I told Simon, because he's gonna find out anyway. "IhadsexwithJordanlastnight."

"You did _what_?"

"I know." Izzy's beaming still. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"You've known him for less than a month," Simon says, eyes wide.

"I know," I tell him. "Trust me, there's nothing you can tell me I haven't thought about, but sex was never that important to me anyway, and he was nice and gentle and he didn't hurt me, and he's the most decent guy there is right now, and I figured I should just go for it." I bite my lip. "Please tell me you're okay with this. Not that I need you to be," I add quickly, "but it'd be nice if you were on my side."

He sighs. "Of course I'm on your side," he says, shaking his head like I've just said something stupid. "I'm always on your side." He pulls me to him. "But, I mean, are you okay with this? Because you don't have to keep playing along with this if you don't want to, and I know he's decent and nice and blah, blah, blah, but this is all up to you. Just make sure you're going to him for the right reasons."

Isabelle rolls her eyes. "Okay, look, Clary. I don't usually agree with Simon here when it comes to sex, but I think you shouldn't do anything for the wrong reasons. I don't want you to regret anything later on—even though what you're doing is totally fine and not at all worthy of regret."

"I'm not regretting any of it," I say to the two of them. "Seriously, guys, I didn't have high expectations about it before it happened, and I'm glad it's over with, and that Jordan's the person I got it over with, because I like him."

"But you don't like him romantically," points out Isabelle.

"I'd like to say yes, but I kinda don't know."

"You'll figure it out," says Simon, and I'm sure he says it mostly to reassure me, because Simon knows nothing about romantic relationships despite being in one. "I promise."

The bell rings, signaling the (unofficial, because it's not first period yet, and I'm not awake enough) start of the day. I follow my friends around. After last night, I live in a cloud; I stare off into the distance in class, thinking of what happened, and second-guessing myself. Do I regret it? Yeah, I don't know Jordan, and yeah, even though I can lie and pretend I've never thought about my first time, the truth is I imagined it to be with someone I was in love with. But I was also open to the possibility of it being with a stranger, especially after Izzy lost her virginity to one and told me that it was the best decision she ever made.

In AP US History, Simon and Isabelle try to talk to me, but I'm too distracted. I keep thinking about our date—which is now on Friday night—and I keep wondering if I want to go, if I want to keep questioning myself like this. It's all a giant mess, a giant mess I'd rather not think about with Jace sitting right next to me, our desks touching.

Isabelle frowns. I get a text from her two seconds later. _You okay? _

_Thinking about Jordan and things in general, _I send her, thinking that it should clue her in.

She raises her eyebrows, sets her phone down, and turns to Simon, who's talking about soccer with Jace. I keep thinking she's going to say something to him, but she doesn't; she just listens to him talk about soccer and keeps looking at me with the words she texted me earlier written all over her expression.

She doesn't say anything until the final bell rings. "I'll give you a ride today," she offers. "We need to talk."

I think about telling her I'm not in the mood to talk, but I realize that it's not true. I am. I need to talk to someone about this before I implode. "I'll text Jon and let him know. Thanks," I add.

She shoots me a look that says _it's my job _and I roll my eyes as we settle into our desks, hoping this period will go by faster than usual.

It doesn't.

By the time the bell that allows us to leave school and enter freedom rings, I'm exhausted. The amount of thinking I've done today is insane—not only because of school, but because of Jordan. He's been texting me the entire time I've been in school. I think it's sweet, and I _do _like him, and the sex was _not _bad, but I don't know if I want to jump into that. Sure, I want a relationship as much as the next girl does, but I don't know if I like Jordan enough to keep this up. I think he's wonderful and smart and kind and fun and a great person with the potential to be a fantastic friend, but I don't know if he's boyfriend material when it comes to me.

When I say the sex wasn't bad, it's because it wasn't. But the thing is, when we had sex, I kept waiting for some kind of connection. I like Jordan, and he likes me, and so there should be something, right? A clue that would let me know that we should date, because we were compatible in bed and, therefore, it's a thing I should do—that's what I was looking for. But it was almost like we didn't fit right, or at least not the way I wanted us to fit. I don't mean that literally, of course, but in the sense that it was almost like having sex with a stranger. I am not an idiot; I didn't go into it thinking there'd be magic and fireworks and all that bullshit people feed you.

I don't even know how it felt, but it wasn't what I was expecting—not in a bad way, but not in a good one, either.

I explain all of that to Izzy when we climb into her car. I notice that we stay in the parking lot. I tell her everything: how I think Jordan is amazing and sweet and wonderful, and how I think he would make an excellent boyfriend, and how he was gentle, and how the sex wasn't bad, and how I would totally do it again. But then I tell her that maybe he's not the guy for me. I don't know if I want a relationship, and I don't know if I, a beginner at the whole sex thing, want to be in a friends with benefits relationship.

And then she tells me what I don't want to hear, which is: "I think you're waiting to feel what you felt with Jace, but you can't feel it, and it's frustrating the crap out of you."

Now, I love Isabelle. She's my best friend. But, in moments like this one, I kind of want to punch her in the face.

"Why do you make everything about Jace?" I ask her.

"Because it is," she says. "I know you don't wanna admit it—because, hello, heartbreak!—but you really did like him. In a romantic way. Which was weird, because he lived in Paris, but I'm not judging you. You two had good conversations. He said he liked you and that you were unlike anyone he'd ever met, and you liked him a lot. And that's okay." She sighs. "But Jordan is not Jace."

"That's his appeal," I mutter. Louder, I say, "Listen, Iz, I like Jordan. I just feel...weird, facing him again. You know." My cheeks heat up; they must be the color of Rudolph the Reindeer's nose. The color of apples. The color of my hair. The color of Santa Claus's clothing. I wish I could re-do Christmas without the heartbreak and tears, but that's beside the point.

"So you started feeling this weirdness _after _the sex?"

My cheeks feel impossibly hot. I nod.

"That makes a lot of sense," she tells me. "Just go out with him. One more date. Go, and then tell me how you feel about him, okay?"

Despite her crazy notions and weird ideas, I trust her. "Okay."

She takes me to Olive Garden (she earned some money from babysitting Max) and talks to me about how it's normal that I'm feeling this way, because I _did _just have sex for the first time with a guy who isn't neither a stranger nor my boyfriend, and so it'll be weirder to handle the situation and I'll feel awkward around him. She tells me it should pass.

"It's a temporary feeling," she assures me, but I don't know how to feel about it. Is this the way it's gonna be with him next time?

I don't express my doubts any further. We talk about her and Simon, and she, of course, tells me what their first time was like, only to emphasize that even in their relationship there was awkwardness. I roll my eyes at the thought of her being awkward, but smile as she tells me how nervous Simon was.

Then she takes me home and tells me that everything is going to be okay.

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think!<em>


	16. Chapter 15

_Hiii, guys! I just woke up, so this AN (like most of my other ones, let's be real) will be a little incoherent and __ramble-y. Anyway, thanks to all of you for reading! You're all awesome and kickass and amazing and I can't come up with any other adjectives so I'm gonna leave it there. Also, special thanks to Katwood5 for beta'ing, to IWriteNaked, spikeyhairgood, and DeathCabForMari for being the best support team ever, because not only do they help me with writing, but they let me rant when the feels get the best of me. I love you guys. :) _

_I hope you like this chapter!_

* * *

><p>On Friday, I'm jumpy all day.<p>

We give our presentation on speakeasies in APUSH, but I'm shaking the entire time. I forget one of my lines (all I had to do was explain the drawing, since it was RIGHT THERE, but I, apparently, suck at that), but no one really notices that much. I'm also good on my toes.

We walk back to our seats after, and Izzy tells me, "Clary, relax," even though that doesn't really help. If only this was an _Ella Enchanted _sort of deal, in which I had to obey every command. (Except, this time, I only want to obey hers. Obviously.)

Simon throws me a concerned look, and I give him a reassuring smile. Jace doesn't say anything at all. He's glad this whole thing is over with, I can tell.

He's not the only one.

The bell rings. In AP English, we're forced to write an essay on _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, _which I actually kind of like. I write my essay, turn it in, and wait the extra ten minutes until the bell rings. I try not to think about how the date is in three hours and ten minutes and focus on the fact that I can take a short nap once I'm home. Deep breathing. In, out, in, out, in, out. Isabelle throws me a _you've go ne nuts _look before going back to her essay. I guess my breathing's kind of loud now that I'm freaking out.

She gives me a ride home and decides to stay and chill before her date with Simon, which is at around the same time as mine. She's the one picking him up, so she should know. I go upstairs and plop down on my bed, glad to get an hour-long nap.

Izzy wakes me up too soon, telling me to hurry up and go shower. I do as she says, but I glare at her the entire time. Seriously, there's still an hour and a half left. That's plenty of time for a shower, choosing an outfit, and listening to her long-yet-somewhat inspiring pep talk. I shower slowly, partly because I'm too nervous but also because I'm still exhausted.

Once I'm done with the shower, I go out with a towel wrapped around my body to find that she's rummaging through my clothes, muttering something about lack of style under her breath. I narrow my eyes.

"Iz, seriously."

She doesn't turn, just keeps examining my clothes. "You need to go shopping with me."

I snort. "Like hell." Last time I went shopping with Izzy, my mom nearly had a heart attack when she saw the dress I brought home. She made me return it—it was _that _bad.

"Okay, how about this?" She takes out a black skater skirt that reaches halfway down my thighs, a tight, long-sleeved V-neck, and hands me my red jacket. It's cold outside, apparently. "You can choose your shoes."

I grin. "It's perfect." I would much rather wear jeans and a hoodie or something low-key, but I do admit that it's not that bad to dress up, especially knowing I'll end up out of those clothes sometime tonight. Maybe. If I let it happen. I bite my lip and go into the bathroom to change.

I choose my black ankle boots with a platform heel. I examine myself in the mirror. My hair doesn't look as bright with the red jacket on, thankfully, and I don't look half bad.

"I'm blow-drying your hair," says Isabelle. Before I can protest, she's sitting me down and brushing it.

"Ow!" I say, my scalp burning. "I hate you." I glare at her through the mirror.

In all of thirty minutes, she manages to make my hair look presentable. She puts Chapstick on my lips and no mascara. I'm grateful for the lack of makeup.

_I'll be there in twenty minutes. Just a head's up. _

Jordan's message shows up on my screen and makes my heart skip about a thousand beats.

"I can't do this." I bury my head in my hands. "I'm a nervous wreck."

Izzy isn't looking at me, though. She was, and her mouth opened to say something, but then it closed. The gesture reminds me of a fish. Anyway, she's looking ahead of me—at the window, to be specific, or beyond it.

I whirl around. Jace is looking at me. He was trying to be discreet, but now he isn't: he's doing a full body take, scrutinizing me from head to toe. It makes me feel naked, which, I guess, is the point.

He gives me a half smile and waves.

I close the blinds.

* * *

><p>Jordan is looking at me.<p>

We're watching a movie—it's a sci-fi movie, and right now there's a lot of fighting on screen, which is why I'm so totally engrossed by it. I'm eating popcorn like crazy, even though we ate before. But his stare distracts me. He's looking at me in the way boys look at girls in movies sometimes; a sideways glance that says _I like you _when he thinks the girl isn't looking. He's admiring me, or whatever.

It makes my stomach do crazy things.

I look at him. I hope he can't see me blush. "How long have you been looking at me?"

"Since the movie started."

"I'm sure your neck must be hurting like hell."

He gives me that charming grin of his. "I'm glad you could make it tonight."

I smile at him. "Me too."

I've never understood the point of holding hands when you're sitting down. There's no point of it. But, as he takes my hand in his, I get it now. It's warmth, and comfort, and I don't want him to let go of my hand.

It wasn't awkward after a while. It was, at the beginning, but then he told me, "We don't have to have sex again unless you want to," and I said, "I kind of want to," to which he replied, "Good to know that's settled," and then he cracked a joke I can't remember anymore, but I know it broke the ice, and we're okay again.

I can't really focus on the movie after that. My hand feels heavy in his, and I kind of want him to kiss me. I mean, now that I don't feel awkward around him, it feels like this huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders, and all I want is for his lips to brush mine. That's it. Not that much to ask for, really, when you consider some of the wishes other people make to the universe.

As if he's reading my mind, Jordan bends down and steals a kiss. It was meant to be a quick kiss, I can tell, but the theater's kind of empty and I've been wanting this to happen for about ten minutes now, so I kiss him back, which is enough to let him know that I want this kiss to continue, like, right now. So that's how I end up making out with Jordan at the movies. That's a story to tell my kids.

We stop kissing about four minutes later, because I feel guilty about making out in front of people who came here to enjoy the movie. So I break the kiss and hold his hand.

The rest of the date goes by pretty fast. We leave the theater, and he's cracking jokes to make me feel comfortable, and I'm laughing. Actual, throwing-my-head-back laughter. It makes me feel awesome.

We arrive at his place, and that's when time starts to slow down. I remember the first time I was here all too well.

"Do you want anything to drink?" Jordan asks.

"I'm good."

"So you wanna make out now?"

"Okay."

That's how we spend a good chunk of our time. His lips against mine, hands roaming my body. Our shirts come off at some point, and all I can think while I'm kissing him is that it's so easy to be with him. He takes off my bra, and soon enough we're making out naked.

I know what's coming. I'm totally mentally (and definitely physically) prepared for what's about to happen. I tell myself to take deep breaths.

And then I let him take me to the bedroom.

* * *

><p>I get back to the house before nine. I'd told my mom I had a date, but told her I didn't want her to meet him yet. No offense, I said to her, but I don't want you to get your hopes up or for you to make this weird or make it seem more serious than it actually is. She said she understood, but I think she was hurt.<p>

"How'd it go?" asks my mom. _Don'tblushdon'tblushdon'tblush. _

"Fine," I say, keeping my voice even. "We watched a movie. Ate some dinner. Walked around."

Mom nods. "Good. I'm glad you had fun." She gives me a smile. "What's he like?"

"Really sweet. Super nice. Funny. Smart."

"Is he in your grade?"

_Crap_. "Uh, no. He doesn't even go to my school."

Mom raises an eyebrow. "And by that you mean he's a senior, right?"

"Yep. He just goes to another school, Mom." I feel guilty for lying, but there's no way she's letting me go with a college guy until I'm a senior. No way.

"Well, I won't interrogate you anymore." She gives me another smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

_Yeah, if you're not at the art gallery or at a gala or whatever. _I give her my best smile. "Sure."

Upstairs, I check my phone. I've been avoiding it, because I just _knew _that there'd be a million texts from Izzy. And, sure enough, there are about ten messages, all along the lines of _did u do it _and _I bet you're having sex right now _and _seriously, Clary, text me when the date is done_. I roll my eyes and send her a _yes, I did it, and no, I'm not having sex right now, because I'm home, and my date is over, and just call me when you can and stop texting me like a maniac. _

I decide that I want to look at the sky. I need to breathe, to think. I open my window and sit on it, looking up at the clear sky, the moon smiling at me. I can see into Jace's room. As always, it's neat, unchanged. I wonder if he ever gets tired of how bare it is, but I shake my head. It's no good, wondering about him, pretending like I can still try to guess what he's like. He's different than I thought he'd be, and the time I've known him has proved that much.

He comes into the room, as if he can feel me thinking about me. I face the moon, ignoring his presence. Jordan comes into my mind, and I sigh. Jordan. Tonight was definitely better. I even see myself doing this more often: going on a date, conversing with him like a normal person, like a friend, and then going back to his house and fooling around.

I see it all happening, but I don't feel it. I want to like Jordan. He's funny, smart, kind, considerate, patient, you name it. He's pretty much perfect. But...there's something missing. I think about it, and it feels like someone's sitting on my chest, making it heavy. It makes breathing hurt sometimes. I hate the idea of Jordan, who's basically the perfect guy, not being enough.

I hear the sound of a window opening, and then there's Jace, sitting on his window. Our houses are, sadly, really freaking close, so he's at a distance that's close enough for me to make out how tired he looks, and the way the moonlight makes his blonde hair shine.

"What do you want, Jace?" I ask him. My voice isn't full of the usual venom. I'm tired—exhausted, even—of battling with myself when it comes to Jordan. I turn the possibilities over like a coin: to be with him (even though I have no feelings for him that could lead to an honest-to-god relationship), or to not be with him (even though I enjoy his company and the sex ain't half bad). It's pretty damn tough.

"You looked...I don't know." Jace shakes his head like he's shaking away thoughts. "How was your date?"

"How did you know I was on a date?"

"I came into your house after you left and Isabelle told me."

_Damn it, Izzy. _"Yeah. I was out with Jordan."

He raises his eyebrows. "Looks like you stayed in."

Am I really that obvious? "That's none of your business," I tell him. "But we did go out. We watched a movie. Had dinner." I shrug. "Date stuff." Why am I explaining myself to him?

He gives me a tired half-smile. "If that's your story."

"It's the truth." Partly, anyway.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Will it make a difference if I say no?" My heart's pounding. Is this it? Is he gonna ask me about last year? Is he gonna bring it up?

"Do you like this Jordan guy?" Jace blurts out. I want to die.

"Why do you care?"

"It's just a question."

"A pretty heavy one."

He seems surprised by this. "It shouldn't be."

I blow a strand of hair out of my face. "Yes, okay? I like Jordan. I do."

"Sounds like you're trying to convince yourself of that."

"Can you just not do this?"

I'm pretty sure he heard something in my voice that makes him soften up. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just...tired." _And I hate you_, I want to tell him, but I'm too tired. "I'm going to bed."

"Yeah, okay. Goodnight."

I don't reply. I just stand up and close my window and shut my blinds. Isabelle calls me after I shower, and I give her a quick recap, telling her I'm tired before she starts asking me too many questions. She tells me she's coming over tomorrow, and I say okay, and we hang up. Pretty much the shortest conversation I've had with her in the history of ever, and I'm immensely grateful for it.

I don't tell her about my lack of rudeness to Jace, or how easy it was, though I don't admit it to myself, to want to reply to him and tell him I'm fine. I didn't feel too much like slapping him, so that's something. But it's something I don't want, not when there's a part of my love life I'm trying to figure out.

* * *

><p><em>Happy (early) Thanksgiving! Let me know what you think. xo <em>


	17. Chapter 16

_Hi, guys! So, obviously, this update is coming to you today mostly because I'm procrastinating hard. (I also can't believe my break is almost over. I have to go back to reality and finals, and it sucks.) Anyway, thanks to Katwood5, as always, for beta'ing. :) Also, thanks to IWriteNaked and DeathCabForMari for being awesome and supportive and the best at coming up with titles. :P Special thanks to spikeyhairgood for being a wonderful friend and a great person to talk to (and fangirl to/with, because yes), and for everything. :) If I'm not making any sense, it's because I'm tired. Anyway, thank you guys for reading and leaving reviews, and I hope you like this one. :) _

* * *

><p>Isabelle is rolling her eyes at me, which usually happens when I try to tell her that I don't want to wear something she's laid out for me or whatever.<p>

Only it's not all about some outfit now. I'm telling her about my date, and she looks kind of bored. "What is it?" I say, stopping at the part where Jordan is taking me to the bedroom.

"You're not telling me what I wanna hear," she says. "Now, I love this recap, really, but I wanna know the real stuff. Are you gonna stay with him? What's gonna happen?"

It's now my turn to roll my eyes at her. "I don't know, Isabelle. I'm waiting to see how it plays out. The truth is, I like Jordan, but I don't know if I _like _Jordan. You know?"

She nods. "I know. Give it time, and call me the second you figure it out."

I nod back. "Got it."

She then tells me about her date with Simon, how she'd missed him. How Max walked in on them making out, and she had to pay him five dollars so he wouldn't tell Maryse. It was kind of hilarious, really, only Isabelle glared at me when I tried to tell her that.

"Max is the devil's spawn," she tells me. "And you have to agree with me."

"Lovin' the democracy here, Iz."

"Anyway," she sighs. "I missed Simon. Like, a lot. I love hanging with you and all, but alone time with Simon is greatly appreciated."

"I get you," I say, nodding. "I'm glad you two are alright."

She smiles widely. "Oh, we're more than alright."

Ughhhhhhh. Cue Isabelle telling me all about her sex life, and me not being able to stop it. I'm pretty sure my ears are bleeding by the time she's done. There's a glint in her eyes that says she enjoys tiring me out this way, and I'm glaring at her.

"I hate you."

"Love you too," she says. "So, are you up for a movie?"

We watch _All's Faire in Love _(aka one of my favorite movies ever) and eat popcorn with Nutella. It's pretty much the best thing ever. I feel like we're back to normal, and I'm glad. I like normal. Normal's good.

It's pretty perfect.

My brother comes into my room halfway through the movie. We pause and turn to look at him. "I wanna ask you guys something," he says.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"So, Mom and Luke are gonna be away in two weeks for a whole weekend, and I'm throwing a party. Do you guys wanna come?"

I snort. "This is my house, dumbass."

"I know, but you're not the most social person in the world, Clary."

"Shut up, Jon."

"We'll be here," says Isabelle.

My brother grins. "Awesome." He leaves my room, just like that, and I groan.

"This is a bad idea."

"This is a great idea."

"My parents are gonna find out."

"Not if you don't tell them."

"Parents _always _find out," I tell her. "Have you never seen any movie ever?"

She nods in the direction of the screen. "I think this moment right now can answer this."

I roll my eyes. "Rhetorical question, Isabelle."

"I don't see what the problem is," she tells me. "He's throwing a party. Okay, so he might get caught, but you won't. It wasn't your idea, anyway."

"I let it happen."

Isabelle sighs. "Just live a little. He's throwing the party the week college decisions emails are coming in, you know. That's why there's a party."

I wave her off. "Fine. Let him have his stupid party."

"Yay! You can invite Jordan," she tells me, waggling her eyebrows.

"No."

"What?"

"No way am I inviting Jordan to a party my brother's throwing. We're gonna end up having sex, and it's gonna be in my room, and someone's gonna come in and embarrass me for life."

She looks at me for a long time. "You've been watching too many movies," she declares, shaking her head.

I shrug. "I've made up my mind."

We keep watching the movie, but I keep getting the occasional text from Jordan. He tells me he had fun last night, and that he wants to do it again, so I tell him that we can meet up sometime this week. I'm sort of swamped with homework: two English essays to write, a research paper to start for APUSH, math and science homework, and a Spanish take-home test. I have to help out my mom with work stuff, because she looks too tired for it to be healthy, and then I want to relax. Listen to some music and sleep. Hang out with Simon and play Super Mario Bros. or something.

Jordan can wait.

* * *

><p>I sit on my window again, hoping to find some clarity. Really, though, I just want to take a break from writing the second English essay after having written the first one, done half of my math homework, half of my science homework, and thought long and hard about outlining my APUSH paper.<p>

It's just past nine, and the moon is shining bright. Stars are spread across the night like freckles on my face. I hate freckles, but I don't hate stars.

Jace's room is empty, thank god. He went out with my brother to some soccer meeting at Pizza Hut. I can examine his room, the emptiness of it. There are still two boxes stacked up by a wall, like he's not ready to fully move in. There are some clothes on his bed, which I assume are only there because he had to leave in a hurry and couldn't clean or something. The rest of his room is plain. I swear, a hospital probably has a livelier room.

"Spying on me?"

I didn't hear the door open, so I jump a little and hit my head on the window. "Motherfu—" I stop, turning around carefully to glare at Jace. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"I think mine is slightly more important."

He sighs. "I wanted to freak you out. Jon said you didn't get scared, and I bet ten bucks that I could scare you." He grinned. "Seems like I won."

"You're an asshole."

"It's your turn to answer my question."

"I'm not," I say. "Spying on you, that is. I'm looking out at the general universe. Taking a break from writing my English paper. Happy?"

"Delighted. Though I know you were secretly hoping to find me naked."

"If I were, I would've done it when you were at your house." I get off the window and stand up. "You can leave now."

"I don't think I will."

"Oh, but you seemed oh-so-eager to collect those ten dollars my brother owes you."

"To get the ten dollars he's gonna give me anyway, or to stick around and annoy the crap out of you some more?" The grin he wears tells the story he wants me to know.

"Why is it that you insist on annoying me so much?" I stare at him.

"Why do you hate me so much?" he asks.

I narrow my eyes at him. That is going way too far. Sure, I hate him. With the fire of a thousand suns, I hate him. I hate the way he looks and his stupid, smug smile, like he's better than everyone else. I hate his stupid soccer ball and lame jokes and terrible comebacks, and his bare walls and boxes stacked up and arms crossed like he doesn't give a shit about anything. I hate that he doesn't give a shit about anything. I hate that he never gave a shit about me in the first place.

"You know why," I say to him. My voice shakes.

"No," he says softly, edging closer. "I don't."

"Then get out of my room and go meditate and figure it out," I snap.

Hurt flashes across his face so fast that I almost miss it, but Jace Wayland doesn't let it show. He bows his head a little, sort of like a very slow nod, and leaves my room. I slam the door so hard I can feel the house shake.

Because he doesn't remember, or he doesn't want to remember, or he doesn't feel like talking about it.

And I have never hated him more.

* * *

><p>I go over to Jordan's apartment on a Tuesday. It's raining, so I hurry in. Isabelle tells me she'll be back in an hour and leaves, presumably to hang out with Simon. I feel guilty for asking her to drive me around so much, but I sort of need this. I need to see him.<p>

When the elevator finally arrives back on the first floor, a pretty girl with dark curls walks past me. She's about my age, I think as I make my way into the elevator and press the number four. I recognize her. She seems so familiar, like someone from my school, but she had her head down and hood up, so I don't know. I shrug.

Jordan is waiting for me with the door open. He looks gorgeous—he _is _gorgeous—and he gives me a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Hey. Come in," he says, gesturing for me to follow him inside.

"I got your text," I tell him, plopping down on the couch. "What's up?"

He wrings his hands. He's nervous, I notice.

"So I haven't been entirely honest with you."

Oh my god, did he give me an STD?

"Isabelle set me up with you after I broke up with Maia," he tells me, and I nod, because I know this. Maia Roberts is a totally gorgeous senior that goes to my school. "And I thought that you would be great for me. You're like her, you know: spunky, but kind. I thought I could see that there were better girls."

It's so, so clear. "But you're in love with her," I say, and I say it so softly that I'm scared he can't hear me.

He nods; he has heard me loud and clear. "I'm sorry." His face is soft. His brows are drawn together, and he's devastated. "I still think any guy would be lucky to have you. You _are _beautiful. And sweet, and kind, and brave, and a good friend." He sits down next to me. "I just can't—I still love her, you know?"

That's a pretty loaded question.

"I get it," I tell him with a smile. "It's no big deal. I mean, it's almost a relief, really, because I wasn't sure whether I liked you or not."

"Because you love Jace."

"_What_?"

He shrugs. "I've seen the way he looks at you. And you act like you hate him, but you've told me a lot about him—all bad, of course, but I know it's because he hurt you somehow. I think you love him."

"I could never love him," I say unflinchingly. "Ever. I liked him once, but I won't make that mistake again."

"Then why weren't you sure about us?"

"It didn't feel right, I guess."

He nods. "You should've told me something, though."

"I don't regret anything, if that's what you're scared of." I grab his hand and give it a tiny squeeze. "You're pretty damn cool."

Jordan smiles. "Glad you think so. I don't regret anything either, by the way."

"Glad to hear it." I give him a kiss on the cheek. "I guess I'll go."

"Yeah. Who's picking you up?"

Crap.

I could call Isabelle. I could. But she needs to be with Simon. My brother's car's still in the shop getting fixed, so that leaves one other person to pick me up.

"Um. One sec." I stand by the window and dial his number.

"Hello?" He sounds sleepy. There's a yawn, and then: "Clary?"

I take a deep breath. "Yeah. Uh, can you pick me up somewhere?"

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I just need a ride home."

"Where are you?"

I give Jace the address and hang up. Jordan is looking at me with an amused expression on his face. "You don't like him, huh?"

I give him the finger.

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think! xo<em>


	18. Chapter 17

_Heeey, you guys. So, since I'm actually awake right now (I've either been going to sleep at 8pm or 3am there's no in-between), I figured I'd post this, especially since I'm staying in tomorrow. (Waking up at 6am to go to one class only? I'm not about that life.) Anyway, thanks to Katwood5 for beta'ing, and to spikeyhairgood (for reading my college essays; you're amazing!), DeathCabForMari (because the memes with my name, oh my god), and IWriteNaked (because of Skype and the thing from Tumblr you just quoted). You're all amazing and I love you. :) Thanks to everyone who reads/reviews/favorites/follows this story! :) I hope you enjoy this chapter. _

* * *

><p>"Thanks for picking me up." I close the door, trying not to meet his gaze. "It was supposed to be Izzy, but I don't wanna bother her now that she has time with Simon after such a long time, and I didn't really have anyone to ask."<p>

He's quiet for a while. "It's fine," Jace finally says. He doesn't move the car, though, just stays there with the car on park.

I look at him. He looks tired, like maybe he was sleeping. He looks older, somehow, like he's carrying a heavier weight. I don't think much about it and look out.

"This is Jordan's apartment, right?"

I nod. "Yep."

He decides this is the perfect time to start driving, and I don't argue. "Did you have fun?" He has a knowing smirk on his face.

I shrug and pick at my shirt. "It was okay."

"Just okay? What happened to your amazing, unforgettable, fantastic, wonderful—"

"We ended it, okay?" I try to keep from shouting and close my eyes. "_He _ended it, anyway. We're still friends, because it wasn't really serious to begin with, but I really don't wanna talk about that right now." I regain my composure. "Just take me home, okay?"

He's quiet. I can feel him looking at me, but I refuse to open my eyes. I feel a headache coming on. Has Jace always been this nosey?

Yep. He has.

"I'm sorry about you and Justin."

"Jordan," I correct through gritted teeth.

"Right. Sorry." He doesn't sound sorry. "I'll take you home."

I take out my iPod and listen to my music, trying to ignore the fact that he keeps glancing my way, as if to determine how okay I am.

_She went down in an airplane,_

_Fried getting suntanned_

_Fell in a cement mixer full of quicksand_

_Help me, help me, I'm no good at goodbyes!_

_She met a shark under water_

_Fell and no one caught her_

_I returned everything I ever bought her_

_Help me, help me, I'm all out of lies_

_And ways to say you died._

I smile at one of my favorite songs by Train. It's always been a fun song for me, probably because I've never had to face a particular situation in which I have to let go of someone. But, as of late, that's all I've ever had to do.

I had to say goodbye to Jordan. I had to say goodbye to Jace back in December.

I hate goodbyes.

My stomach growls, and my eyes widen. Crap. I hadn't realized how I hungry I am until right now. My stomach actually hurts.

"We'll stop somewhere." It's started to rain, and the temperature's dropping. "What do you wanna eat?"

"Five Guys," I blurt out, realizing that I haven't been there in forever.

The last time I went to one of my favorite burger places was with Luke. It was in January, the day before I started school again, and he took me there while he was on his break from running the store. I remember how cold it was that day. I felt like my fingers were going to fall off, and the joint was familiar and comfortable.

Now, it fills me with dread. I'm about to step in with the guy I swore I'd hate for the rest of my life. Here he is, standing next to me, offering to pay for my food. I wish I could refuse, but I have no money, and I'm pretty sure I'm gonna pass out unless I eat something.

My phone rings. Isabelle. I'd forgotten to tell her I had a ride home. I mentally slap myself and pick up. "Hey."

"Are you ready for me to go?"

"I, uh, finished a lot earlier. I got a ride."

"Who's your ride?"

"Maia Roberts." The lie slips out easily. I hate myself for it, but I keep going. "She was there, and I asked her for a ride."

"Maia was there?"

I nod. I thank everything in the universe that I have Maia's number and can call her and ask her to lie for me. "Yeah."

"Okay. Well. See you tomorrow?"

"Sure. See you then."

I order my burger and sit down with Jace, waiting until our order's ready. We sit in silence as I call Maia and ask her to lie for me. She's a bit confused, but she agrees to lie in the end.

"Why'd you ask her to lie?" Jace looks at me with a curious expression and sips on his soda.

I sigh. "Isabelle hates you."

"Way to lay it on me."

"Sorry." I don't sound like I'm sorry.

He shakes his head. "I asked. Why, may I ask, does she hate me? Is it for the same reason you do?"

This is a weird conversation to have. I feel awkward. I don't wanna talk to him about it, because he's gonna ask why I hate him, and I might just fall apart if he does. And I might throw a few punches, too. "Yep."

"For whatever it's worth," Jace tells me, his voice softer than I've heard it in a long time, "I'm really sorry."

So he knows he did something wrong. Finally.

"Yeah, well, it's not something I can forgive. Sorry."

He's about to open his mouth to tell me something when someone approaches our table. I almost groan, but I don't want him to think I'm doing so for the wrong reasons.

Kaelie Whitewillow is a bitch. She smiles at me and makes a face before turning to Jace, all charm or whatever the hell it is she pulls on him.

"I'm gonna go wait for our order elsewhere." I stand up. I want to call Isabelle right away and tell her what happened, but then she'll know I lied. UGH.

Finally, after ten minutes of watching Kaelie talk to Jace and staring at the checkered design of the place and the accolades hanging from the walls, our order is ready. Jace sees me approaching and asks Kaelie if she can leave, which, I have to admit, is pretty much one of the best things I've ever seen. She tells Jace to call her and saunters away.

I raise my eyebrows. "I didn't think guys like you stooped so low."

"Guys like me?" He raises an eyebrow. I hate him.

"Guys who have the attention of basically every girl." I take a bite out of my heavenly burger. It feels like I can breathe again after basically starving for what seems like forever.

"Enjoying yourself?" He looks amused and wears a smirk on his face.

"Yes." DO NOT BLUSH, CLARY. "You didn't explain."

He shrugs. "I don't feel like explaining. It's none of your business."

It stings, but it's true.

We finish eating in silence. I get a text from Jordan asking if I got home okay, and I tell him that I'm eating at Five Guys and wanting to die. He apologizes for not giving me food earlier.

If only all boys were like him.

I don't thank Jace when we finally make it home. I drag myself out of the car and into my house and lock myself up in my room. I wait for five minutes to see if someone comes in.

Once I make sure that I am, for all intents and purposes, alone, I finally allow myself to cry.

* * *

><p>The moon is covered by the clouds tonight, which is a damn shame.<p>

There are also no stars. I love the rain, but not when it covers the design of the sky at night, because I love the night. I listen to music and sit on my window, needing the fresh air. I can't believe I cried for what seems like forever. I wish my heart didn't feel so heavy.

Jace sits on his window. He isn't saying anything, and I don't notice him at first. I want to run when I do, but I'm too tired to drag myself back in, so I just stare up and ignore him, hoping he'll take the hint and leave.

But he lives to annoy me, so he stays. "I heard you crying."

I freeze. I swear my heart stops beating. "You heard wrong."

He lifts an eyebrow in amusement. "Really?"

"Yep." Only I know he probably knows anyway, because my nose stays pink and my eyes swell up after I cry.

His legs dangle from the window, and he's looking at me like I'm a math problem he's trying to figure out. I wish he'd stop, because I'm not. A math problem, that is.

"Did you really like him that much?"

I give him my bitchiest smile and step back inside. Right before I'm about to close my window, I say, "That's none of your business."

I draw the blinds together before I can hear his reply.

I take out my sketchbook. Aside from sketching that speakeasy, it's been a while since I've drawn. I used to make time for it every day, but I've been uninspired, to say the least. I take out my drawing pencils and think of something to sketch, but the best thing I come up with is an eye.

And so I start. I draw curved lines and shapes that make sense to me, because drawing is the only thing I can do and feel right about. The pencil I hold has the power to mend broken hearts. It can create things out of nothing as long as there's a surface to draw on.

I'd like to believe I'll always have my love for drawing even when I have nothing else.

Isabelle calls me, but I let it go to voicemail. I can't get distracted, not now, not when I'm finally doing something I love and care about. I shade the eyebrow, making sure it's shaped to perfection. It's a lame ass drawing, but a drawing nonetheless.

I put on my headphones and play my iPod on shuffle, trying to think of what else to draw. I end up drawing Jordan—halfway, anyway, before deciding I don't want to feel sorry for something I didn't care about much in the first place.

There's a knock on my door. "Come in," I call out.

"It's locked," a voice says. It's my brother. I walk over and unlock it.

"What're you doing up?" I ask. It's one in the morning.

He shrugs. "Couldn't sleep. Listen," he says, "I was kind of hoping your boyfriend could buy us booze."

I glare at him. "He's not my boyfriend, and no, he can't." I start shutting the door, but he stops me with a hand.

"Oh, come on." He gives me a pleading look. "Pleaaaaase."

I roll my eyes. "Jon, he's not my boyfriend, okay? Right now, he's barely my friend. He isn't coming to your party, and he's not buying you booze, so drop it."

My brother looks irritated at my response and storms off, muttering something about me being a bitch. I shrug and close the door, returning to my sketching. It's finally making me want to go to sleep, though I don't want it to be tomorrow. I don't want to have to wake up.

I don't wanna have to tell Isabelle about Jordan.

Eventually, I give up. My mind wants to think, but I'm too tired, tired enough that I start a thought and never end it. I turn off my lights and put away my sketchbook, and I lie down in the dark until sleep claims me.

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think!<em>

_P.S. The song mentioned is "50 Ways To Say Goodbye" by Train. _


	19. Chapter 18

_Hi, guys! So, I'm updating today because I realized that, because next week I have finals (on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday), I'll only be able to update on Tuesday. SO I just pushed this a day back, and ta-daaaa! Update. Also, I might be slightly excited because, after SIX WHOLE MONTHS, I got my laptop's keyboard fixed, and I feel happiness again. And also because I'm procrastinating. Hard. Anyway, thanks to Katwood5 for beta'ing this. Special thanks to spikeyhairgood, DeathCabForMari, and IWriteNaked, for being supportive and awesome and the best. :)) And thank you guys for getting this story past 300 reviews! That's seriously awesome. Thank you. :) I hope you like this chapter!_

* * *

><p>Simon comes over to my house on Saturday with a bag full of Wii games and a bunch of scary movies.<p>

"You're my hero," I tell him, letting him in.

He shrugs. "I do what I can."

We set up Super Mario Bros. on the Wii and make popcorn. It's just like old times, just the two of us. It's our frustrated screams as we lose a life in the game, the loud curses, the whooping and high-fiving when we pass a level. It's so familiar and good and comfortable that I almost cry, but I don't. Obviously. Because how lame would that be?

We order pizza and keep playing, stopping only to eat. "So," Simon says. "Izzy told me about Jordan."

I look at him with a sigh. "She asked you to ask how I am?"

"Actually, that's just me wondering."

"I'm fine," I say. It's true. Sort of. I mean, I'm not _not _fine, but I'm not dancing around singing "Kumbaya" with all of my friends and thinking that life is rainbows and unicorns and flowers.

He grunts. "I've known you for too long, and I know you're lying."

"I'm not," I protest.

"Clary."

"Simon."

"You," he tells me, "are impossible."

"You looooooove me." I drink more soda. "You dooooo." I say it in a sing-song voice.

He waves me off. "Yeah, yeah." He's smiling, though, and he drops the subject. Thank god.

We eat in silence for a while. I start teasing him about his relationship with Izzy, and then he tells me to shove it in a lighthearted way, and we go back to playing our game. It's that easy.

God, I missed Simon.

* * *

><p>The entire week consists of my brother preparing for the party he's throwing on Friday (in secret, of course, because our parents would have a crap attack otherwise) and of Isabelle watching me closely, as if I could break any second.<p>

Because Maia is back together with Jordan, my brother convinced her to convince _him _to attend the party and bring the booze. So there's that. My only sad attempt at a love life is going to come back and bite me in the ass.

On Friday, my parents say goodbye to us in the morning. They're leaving as early as we are. Now that Jon's car is (thankfully) working, we don't need to wait for Jace to give us a ride.

They tell us to be good. They give us the rules: 1) No parties (HA!), 2) No people other than Jace, Simon, and Isabelle over (YEAH, OKAY), 3) Clean up after yourselves, and 4) Do not abuse of the money left for food.

I sometimes feel really bad for my parents.

The school day goes by fast. I find that things go by fast when you're dreading what's at the end of that in-between space, so the day basically flies and, in the blink of an eye, I find myself in my room, with Isabelle telling me what to wear to the party.

I tell her that I'm wearing what I want. I mean, seriously. Not only do I wish I could stay up here (because, if I don't someone _will _use my room as a place to frickle frackle, and I am NOT okay with that), but I wish that there wasn't a party in the first place. I wish that my brother were an antisocial weirdo everyone makes fun of. Like I would be, if Izzy weren't my friend and I wasn't Jon's sister.

"Just remember," she says to me, "that Jace is gonna be here. And, if I were you, I'd wanna show him what he's missing."

Goddamn Isabelle Lightwood.

I wear a tight, low-cut black shirt that I usually use to start off layers of clothing, ripped-up, high-waisted jean shorts, and my black Converse.

Simple enough to be me, but better than what I usually wear.

I look at myself in the mirror. The black shirt makes my hair look redder, and my eyes look a lighter shade of green. My freckles look subdued, but it could be the lighting. Either way, I look better than usual.

And I refuse Izzy when she offers me makeup, opting to wear only Chapstick instead.

Downstairs, I hear someone come in. It doesn't take a genius to figure out it's Jace, since the party doesn't start until nine.

"Go on." Iz is smiling. "I'll go down with you, even though I'm not fully ready yet."

Isabelle is wearing a dark red dress that reaches halfway down her thighs. The front of it has a design that leaves the top of her boobs for the world to see. Of course, she looks gorgeous. She's wearing her high-heeled boots with the lace-up front.

Jace is standing by the door with a box, waiting for Jon to tell him where to set it down. My brother points it out, but he sees us first.

And he stays where he is.

And he's looking at me.

And I will myself to turn my heart to stone.

"Never mind," my brother says, breaking our staring contest. Jace moves his gaze away from me and gives his attention to my brother. You'd think the dude's never seen boobs and legs before, with his reaction.

"He's basically drooling," whispers Isabelle.

"I know."

"Sis!" My brother grins at me. "Hey."

I stare at the clock. It's eight. "What's up?"

"Help me set this up. Jordan should be here with the drinks soon," he tells me. I nod and go into the kitchen, finding the chips spread out on the kitchen counter. Well, the bags, anyway. I grab three plastic bowls and am opening the Cheetos bag when the door to the kitchen swings open.

There stands Jace. He's wearing a black button-down and jeans. I hate to admit it, but he looks good.

(That's kind of an understatement.)

"Here." He grabs a bag. "Let me help."

"I think I can open bags by myself." I roll my eyes and move on to the bag of Doritos. "But thanks." Sarcasm drips from my voice.

He rolls his eyes. "Has anyone ever told you you're impossible to deal with?"

"I take pride in it."

Just to mess with me, Jace opens the bag and dumps its contents in a bowl. He looks at me as he does it, grinning from ear to ear. I'm pretty sure he knows how much I hate him and is now trying to just piss me off.

It. Is. So. Working.

I walk out of the kitchen. "Chips are done," I announce. "Anything else?"

"Make sure nothing too pricey can be reached. I don't want anything broken." Jon's voice is loud and clear to my ears, but I have no idea where the fuck he is.

"Got it."

I go through the house, making sure that Mom's vases and good paintings are safe. I pray to whatever god is listening that nothing breaks tonight, because I know both of us will be in trouble if our parents find out Jon threw a party.

By the time I'm done, it's fifteen minutes until the party starts. Jon and Jordan are unloading the drinks from Jordan's truck, and Jace is setting them up, taking them from the boxes they come in and placing them on the table. There are enough drinks for the entire town, I think.

We're gonna be in so much trouble.

Thankfully, our only neighbor is Jace. The lady who lived next door, Dorothea, moved away to an apartment. The house is basically abandoned now.

Too late, I realize that the party would've been more awesome had it been thrown in an abandoned house.

I dismiss the thought and dart upstairs. In my room are Maia and Isabelle. They're talking, sitting on the floor, and both of them smile when I come in.

"Running away from being turned into my brother's slaves, I see." I plop down on the floor with them. "Hey, Maia."

"Hey." She gives me a warm smile.

"Yeah, your brother's too lazy to do all of that. He says he's 'supervising' and then bosses everyone else around. No, thank you." Isabelle leans back against my bed. "So, how did that go in the kitchen with Jace?"

I grab a sock and throw it at her.

At nine thirty, people start showing up. It's kind of crazy, because the three of us stay holed up in here, but the second we hear people shouting enthusiastically downstairs, we all make our way down.

Simon is among the crowd of people. His eyes scan the crowd for Isabelle. When he finds her, his whole face lights up, and I can actually see Izzy _blushing_. Seriously.

They're dorks.

She walks over to him, naturally, and leaves me standing alone. There are a couple of people here—maybe ten, not including Jace, Jon, Jordan, Maia, Simon, Isabelle, and myself.

Music is playing loudly already. Gross. I'm all for music, even loud music sometimes, but not when the volume threatens to make my ears bleed.

_Hey, baby, won't you look my way?  
><em>_I can be your new addiction.  
><em>_Hey, baby, what you gotta say?  
><em>_All you're giving me is fiction._

Jace is standing in front of me. It takes me a moment to realize this, because I'm lost in the scene, but there he is. And he's looking at me like he never finished his job earlier, like it takes more than a second to take me in.

"Take a picture," I snap. "It'll last longer."

He smirks at me. "Just admiring the view."

I roll my eyes. "You're a dick, you know that?"

"I know."

I push past him and weave my way through the small crowd of people that has gathered in my living room. I get a green apple-flavored ice cooler and make my way back upstairs, deciding that a) I'm already tired of this party, and b) this is my new favorite drink.

I open the door to my bedroom. I can almost taste the relief—

—and that's gone, because Maia and Jordan are dry-humping on my bed, and I want to die. Repeatedly.

"Okaaaaay." I back out and close the door, taking a deep breath. I need air. Like, right now.

The crowd has multiplied, and I push past people on my way to the door. Some of them mutter that I'm rude, but I don't give a shit. The cold air freezes my legs and makes me begin to shake, but it's air. It's peace.

It's exactly what I need.

I wish I could've brought my sketchbook, but seeing the guy I lost my virginity to dry-humping his old/new girlfriend left me stupefied and temporarily blind. Seriously, I think my eyes might be bleeding. After seeing that, I think I _want _to go blind, just to make sure I never have to see it ever again in my entire life.

And then I get an idea.

Jordan picks up on the third ring. "Clary?"

"Since I'm lending you my room to have sex with Maia, I sort of need you to do me a favor."

"Right now?"

"Yep."

"Okay, what is it?"

"Toss my sketchbook out the window. Make sure it's closed and that you do it lightly," I add. "It's on the table next to the bed."

"Got it. Maia's throwing it." I hear shuffling, and then I see my window open.

"Thanks. Have fun. Use a condom," I tell him before hanging up. I see Maia's head poking out of my window.

"Now?" she calls out.

I feel kind of bad that I interrupted their time together, but I forget to feel guilty when I realize that they're using my bedroom. "Yeah! And, hey, throw the pencil on the table, too!"

"Got it!" She tosses the sketchbook. It lands a few feet away with a soft thud. "I'm throwing the pencil!" she calls out, and I don't hear that one land, but I know she threw it.

"Thanks. And sorry!" I add.

"It's fine." She closes the window once she waves at me and shuts the blinds.

I use my phone's flashlight to locate my sketchbook, which is slightly damp from landing on the grass, and my pencil, which landed a few inches away from the sketchbook and appears to be unharmed. Awesome.

I sit on one of the chairs that decorates my front porch and open my sketchbook. The last thing I was drawing is the entire set of characters from Super Mario Bros. I left off with Luigi—I didn't get too far in—so that's where I continue, shading the inside of his mustache.

I don't even try to use my headphones. The house is vibrating with the beat of the music, and there's no way I'd be able to block it out. I try to zone out, to focus on my drawing, and it works. I don't know time when I'm working on my sketches.

I finish Luigi, satisfied. I move on to Peach, wondering exactly how her dress looks like. I'm about to pull out my phone to look up a picture when someone stumbles out of the house.

This someone, of course, with my luck, happens to be Jace Wayland.

* * *

><p><em>The song in this chapter is "Everybody Talks" by Neon Trees. <em>

_Let me know what you think! :) _


	20. Chapter 19

_Hey, guys! So, here's the next chapter, coming to you this early on in the day because I'm procrastinating hard. I'm supposed to be studying for my math final...haha. At least the two hardest ones are done. Anyway, thanks to IWriteNaked for beta'ing this! :)) And thanks to spikeyhairgood and DeathCabForMari for being awesome as well. You three are the best. :)_

_Thanks to you guys for reading! I hope you like this chapter! :D_

* * *

><p>He's drunk.<p>

Jace Wayland is shit-faced. His blonde hair looks even more yellowish against the harsh light of my front porch. He looks tired, less than graceful—which is not how I'm accustomed to seeing him, of course, because he's always cool and collected, even when he's not. Even when he's apologizing, there is a grace to the way he does it, but the guy standing in front of me looking like he might pass out? Not exactly graceful.

Before I can stand—before I can do anything, actually—he starts moving over to me, almost tripping about a billion times.

"Can I join you?" he asks, voice slurred. There's no chair next to me, but I nod anyway, because what do you say to a drunk guy like that, anyway?

He sits down by my feet, which is weird, but I let it slide. He doesn't speak, so I assume he doesn't really want a conversation. I wonder what it is he wants, anyway.

"You're drunk." Those are the first words I can think to say. _Smooth, Fray. So smooth._

He smirks. "I knooow."

"So what do you want, then?" I tap my foot impatiently. "Because I'm kinda busy."

"I wanted to talk to you," Jace says, trying to stand up, but failing. After a moment, he sighs. "Can you help me up?"

I set my sketchbook down and give him my hand. He takes it, and I ignore the current that goes through me, almost making me drop his hand. Once he's up, I let go of it like it's on fire.

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Come here," he says.

"Jace." I'm obviously not patient.

He sits down on the steps, and I have no other option but to follow. I sit down next to him, though I don't know why. Maybe it's because people have always told me that the drunker you are, the more honest you will be. Maybe I want true words from him. Maybe I'm digging around for a confession. I don't care.

"It's her birthday today."

The words stun me. "Whose birthday?"

"My mom's."

"So call her and say happy birthday."

He laughs. It's laced with bitterness. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because she's dead."

The words hang in the air. I realize now, though I didn't make the connection before, that his dad was married to his _stepmom_, not his mom.

Oh my god.

"She's buried here, you know. In this town. My dad didn't wanna come back, but he had to. I haven't seen her in years."

_Well, no shit_. It hits me that he might mean that he hasn't gone to visit her grave in years, which makes more sense.

I don't know what does it for me. Maybe it's that he looks broken and fragile, or that I can't go up to my room, or that I'm not in the party mood, or that I've hated him for such a long time while he's had to mourn like this that I feel guilty, but I stand up.

"Find the keys to your car."

He lifts his head up, his golden eyes meeting mine. "Why?"

I give him a shaky smile. "We're gonna go visit your mom."

* * *

><p>Jace looks like he's gonna be sick the entire time we drive to the cemetery. My sketchbook rests on my lap, and I'm driving. I've taken a couple of classes, and I have my license, but I don't have much experience, because my mom is paranoid about me being out on the streets. The road is mostly empty, which helps.<p>

The cemetery is technically closed, but the guard is fast asleep, so we manage to sneak by him easily. I kept thinking that Jace was going to fuck it up by yelling or puking or tripping, but he didn't. Thank. God.

"Where is it?" I ask him.

It turns out that Jace isn't very good with remembering directions when he's drunk.

We find his mother's grave eventually. Her name was Celine Wayland, and she died five years ago. Jace would have been twelve.

"I'll go wait closer to the entrance." I'm about to start walking when I feel his hand on my wrist.

"Stay," he tells me, and he looks so young that I do. I keep asking myself what the fuck I'm getting myself into, but I also know that, despite the wrongness of this, there's also the fact that his mother is dead, and he's drunk, and he needs this. He has let me down. A lot. In ways that I want to confront him about every single day.

But this is more important.

I sit down on the damp grass next to him, the blades tickling my exposed skin.

We're quiet for a few minutes. Then, Jace speaks up. "I talk to my mom sometimes," he says. "Just so you know."

"Got it." I wish I could say I think it's weird.

He clears his throat. "Hey, Mom." His speech is still slurred, but he says these things with certainty. "It's Jace. Again. This is my friend, Clary. Only she hates me, so she's not really my friend?" He shoots an apologetic look in my direction. I blush. If his mom is looking down at us, what must she think of me? I may not care about Jace, but I have nothing against his dead mother.

"Anyway," he continues, "it's your birthday. I almost didn't come today, because I didn't think I could, but then I found the courage." By _courage_, I'm fairly sure he means alcohol. "I miss you. A lot." He sounds awkward, but he keeps going. "I wish that you could be here so I didn't have to live with Dad and hear him talk about how Amatis is a bitch or whatever. I miss you." His voice drops to a whisper. "And I'll come talk to you when I can think about what I'm saying, but happy birthday, Mom. Iloveyousomuch."

I try not to think of the weight he's been carrying on his shoulders for the past five years—especially as of late, with his mom dead and his dad barely there (and angry as hell when he _is _there). I think about the things I've said to him, and I feel like my conscience is the dirtiest thing in the entire world.

I watch him stand up, so I copy his motion—only I turn out to be the graceful one, because he's wasted beyond belief. Seriously.

We walk back to the car carefully, making sure not to get caught. Before we get in, Jace says, "Can we sit in the back for a second?"

I'm unsure of why he asks, but I nod, climbing in after him. My sketchbook rests on my lap yet again. The cold is still making my legs feel numb, so I grab a random hoodie from the floor of Jace's car and drape it over my thighs, my sketchbook resting on top of that. I itch to sketch, but not yet.

Jace has his eyes closed as he speaks. "My mom used to make me pancakes every morning, because pancakes are my favorite. She used to sing as she cooked, and she taught me how to play the piano. She was…" He shakes his head. "She was the kindest person. The best mom."

I don't know what to say. I don't want to say anything. I know it'll be nice, and I don't know if I'll congratulate or kick myself for it later. He's making this hard. He's making it hard to hate him.

_Think about last fall. About the winter. About all the time you spent waiting, the hope you lost. Think about the boy he pretended to be in all of his emails. Think about what he said, and how he stopped. He stopped saying anything at all._

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask, trying to sound as neutral as I can.

He looks at me with his golden eyes that look dark in this dim lighting. I find myself itching to reach out for him, but I can't. My mind won't let me. I find myself rooted in place.

"I don't know," he says. He moves closer to me, and I catch my breath. He smells like alcohol and sadness with a hint of rain. "I really don't know," he whispers.

And then he throws up on my sketchbook.

* * *

><p>After I clean myself and my (mostly destroyed, sadly) sketchbook, I get back on the driver seat. It's already 11:30pm.<p>

Jace hasn't stopped apologizing since he threw up all over my sketchbook. I want to be mad, but he's a mess, so I say it's okay and I drive around town, not quite ready to go back to my house.

I get myself a burger at McDonalds and give him my fries, hoping it'll sober him up a bit. I buy water for him, too.

This idea of a drunk, careless Jace is foreign to me. He's always so careful with what he says, with the way he says it. He's been hiding his mother's death from me for months now. He is graceful and full of care, and this Jace, the one who trips and pukes and rants, is an entirely new one to me.

I don't know if I like him.

I don't know if I like how he makes me feel.

It starts raining, and I'm still driving. The clock strikes midnight, and I still go around, wandering aimlessly. I hope I don't get in trouble, but I find myself not caring.

Jace is still awake. He seems to be about to doze off, though. The rain and alcohol have an effect on him, like they would on anyone else.

I plug in my iPod to the car and my music fills the silence, making the streets seem prettier.

_Take a bow 'cause you played your heart out_

_And take your time with working the rest out_

_And try and stay out of your head_

_I have seen you invent the damnedest things there_

"I like this song," murmurs Jace.

I don't say anything. It'll ruin the night if I do.

At twelve thirty, I decide to head back home. At one, I make it, happy to see that the party's over. I make my way into the house, relieved to find it unlocked, and drag Jace in with me, grunting at his weight. I lock the door behind me and carry him up the stairs.

My bedroom, miraculously, is empty. Jace is half-awake, and he sits down on my bed, looking ready to pass out. I tiptoe out into the hall, waiting to see if there's anyone awake, but there is no one. All of the rooms are occupied by people.

I sigh. There is a mattress underneath my bed.

It'll do.

I set it for him and help him get in. He really is drunk. Wasted. He's gonna have a killer hangover tomorrow. I take a quick shower after he's all tucked in and my door is locked, and then I get dressed, shut my blinds, turn off the lights, and get in bed.

Despite my physical exhaustion, my mind is reeling. I don't want to feel sorry for Jace. I want to hate him with everything that is burning in my veins, because he's the one that should be blamed for last year. He deserves this. He is not innocent.

But I can't hate him now. Not after what I saw tonight. They have told me that you are honest if you're drunk, and I've seen him be honest.

Looking at him, especially after the cemetery, hurts.

All of it hurts.

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think! I'll be updating again on Friday. :) <em>


	21. Chapter 20

_Hiii, everyone! I'm finally done with my last first semester of high school! So, because I'm not gonna be home all weekend, I'm posting this today. Thanks to IWriteNaked for beta'ing. You're as awesome as mint choco chip ice cream. :) Thanks to DeathCabForMari and spikeyhairgood for being generally cool people and listening to me rant about everything ever. :D _

_Also, I'd just like to ask you guys to please check out my two new stories! "All I Want" will be a multi-chapter story co-written with clarissadele (formely 4everallways), and "Bloom" is a one-shot co-written with the awesome spikeyhairgood. I'd love to hear what you think of both! _

_Anyway, thanks so much for reading/reviewing/following/favoriting this story, and I hope you like this chapter!_

* * *

><p>I wake up to the sound of my shower running.<p>

Someone else is showering.

IN MY ROOM.

I open my eyes too fast, and the little light that sneaks past the blinds and the curtains makes me see spots. I groan, rolling over to the side.

And freeze.

The mattress is empty. The sheets are folded, and everything is placed neatly, as if done by my mother or, I don't know, someone with professional folding skills. The shower stops, and I turn around.

He's only wearing a towel wrapped around his waist.

Oh god.

I bury myself back in my sheets, seeking their comfort. This is not happening. This is not happening. This is NOT—

"I left my clothes out here." His voice is muffled by the layer of sheets between us. "Sorry."

I don't say anything. I hear the bathroom door close, and I immediately start to panic. I know Izzy stayed the night, and if she sees how this looks—

She'll kill me. This looks bad. So, so, so bad.

Jon will kill Jace, too. Fuck. _Fuck_.

"I'm leaving now," Jace says. I uncover myself so I can see him. He's wearing my brother's clothes, and, even with circles under his eyes and messy hair and a hangover, he looks amazing. Of course. "But I'll be back later to help Jon clean."

"Okay." I shrug. It's no big deal. Stay calm, Clary. Caaaaaaaalm.

He pauses. It's awkward for both of us. "We'll, uh, talk later, I guess?"

I nod. "Sure." _Not if I can help it._

He leaves my room, and I collapse. My back hurts, and my heart is pounding hard against my chest, its speed feeling like a thousand miles per hour. I take a deep breath, and the pounding moves to my head. Ow. Not good. I need sleep.

My clock says it's 8am. I _definitely _need sleep.

I try not to think too much about the way the button-down clung to his body. Okay, so he's attractive. That's no big deal. I knew that already. Everyone knew that already. It's _fine _that he's attractive. It doesn't matter. So what if I actually acknowledge it? So. Freaking. What.

I try not to think about last night, either, but that fails miserably. All I see when I think of Jace is the way he spoke to his mom. The way he spoke to _me _about his mom, with appreciation in his voice. With grief. It's been five years, and he is still grieving.

I take a breath. It's shaky. I tell myself that I can't think of Jace like that. Jace is the enemy. I hate Jace. Jace broke my heart. Jace is not the guy he seems to be.

_Being drunk makes you honest_.

I mentally flip off whoever it was that told me that and try to fall asleep, the images from last night playing in my mind without permission.

* * *

><p>I wake up again at 11:56 a.m. My eyes adjust better to the lighting, though it takes a bit for everything to come crashing back into me.<p>

The party.

The cemetery.

My _sketchbook_.

Jace.

I want to go back to sleep. Instead, I stand up, quietly thanking myself for showering last night. I can smell food, though I can't pinpoint what it is that's cooking until I'm halfway down the stairs and the smell hits me.

_Pancakes_.

He's standing in the middle of the kitchen, whistling a tune I've never heard before. He's wearing a different shirt—a t-shirt—but the jeans look the same. As if sensing my stare, he turns around, smiling.

"Do you want some pancakes?"

I shake my head. "I'm not really hungry."

We stand in silence. The only sound is the sizzling of the frying pan and the sound of Jace scraping pancakes off the pan and placing them in stacks on a plate.

"We need to talk," he says, voice low.

I don't want to talk. How do I tell him that without making a huge deal out of it?

"Please."

I nod. "Okay. Later."

Someone walks into the room. Isabelle. I recognize her as soon as I turn around. She's wearing no makeup and no shoes. In fact, she's wearing a pair of Jon's pajama pants and one of his shirts. I raise an eyebrow.

She waves me off. "I took them without asking."

"Got it. Want pancakes?" I ask.

"Yes, please. I am staaarving." She nods at Jace, acknowledging his presence.

I smile at her. "I'm too tired to be starving."

"Where'd you go last night, anyway?"

I stiffen. "What do you mean?"

"You weren't in your room. You weren't anywhere to be seen, actually." Her eyes narrow. She's on to something.

I shrug, playing it cool. "I was outside."

"What were you doing?"

"Sketching." Not entirely a lie. I _was _sketching. Until I wasn't.

"Right." She sits down at the kitchen island. "Okay."

"Want something to drink?" I ask.

"Water," she replies. I move and get her some, hoping that this has served as a distraction.

"Maia and Jordan did it in my room, I think." I wrinkle my nose. I know Jace is probably stifling his laughter right now.

Izzy imitates my expression. "Gross. You'd think the dude would go to another room."

"I thought you two were friends," I tease.

"We are. I just hate that he played you like that, you know?"

I shrug. "He and I are cool. Trust me."

Isabelle opens her mouth to say something, but Jace chooses that moment to place the bottle of syrup and plate of delicious-looking pancakes in front of her, and my friend shuts up. Finally.

Simon comes in fifteen minutes later. He looks like he hates to be awake right now, which sort of mirrors how I'm feeling. He greets me with a nod and does the same to Jace, who asks if Simon wants pancakes. Soon enough, the three of them are eating pancakes together.

And now I know where I have to go.

I stand up so suddenly the floor starts to spin. I go up to my brother's room and find his car keys, knowing exactly where they are. Downstairs, everyone's looking at me quizzically.

"I have to go," I blurt out.

Iz raises her eyebrows. "While you're wearing those pajama pants?"

Right. Clothing.

"I'll be right back."

"So much for your dramatic exits," says Jace, smirking.

Simon snorts and goes back to eating his pancakes.

They're interacting normally. WHAT IS HAPPENING?

I slip into jeans and a hoodie and wear my rain boots. Outside, the weather is cloudy. I hug my coat closer to me and turn on the heat as soon as I turn on the car. Technically, I could get in trouble for this.

I almost jump when someone knocks at the window. Isabelle looks concerned. She climbs in once I unlock the door. "Wherever you're going, I'll go with you."

I look at her. She's going to hate me. She'll never forgive me.

I drive to the cemetery.

On the way, I explain what happened last night. I explain the events from start to finish, and then I tell her how it made me feel. I may not know Celine, but I do know one thing: I owe her an apology.

Isabelle lets me do this alone. I remember the way from last night; unlike Jace, I was not drunk. I kneel down on the grass in front of her grave, the very grave I listened to Jace talk to yesterday.

The same grave I'm talking to now.

This was a bad idea.

"Mrs. Wayland," I say, letting out a breath. "I don't really know how to go about this. I know what I want deep in my heart—I want to apologize to you—but none of the words I have seem right. See, the truth is, your son is kind of a pain in the ass. He's cocky sometimes. Sarcastic. A smartass. He sort of broke my heart," I explain, "and now I hate him with the fire of a thousand suns. But I didn't know that he carried around this secret. That he missed you every day. That he lived without someone to help him out in the girl department—because, let's face it, his dad won't do it. Anyway," I sigh, "I don't want to apologize to him. Not now. I'm not ready, and he doesn't deserve it. But I do want to apologize to you.

"I'm sorry for making this harder on Jace. I don't know if he likes me, or if he even wants me around, but I know that words have an impact on people. A big impact. And I know that Jace broke my heart, but he has had his broken plenty of times. That," I clarify, "does not excuse his behavior." This speech is all over the place. Jesus. "But I just…I guess I want to apologize, because life is hard enough without me being mean and reminding him of his mistakes every day. One day, I'll stop. When I'm ready." I stand up, brushing stray grass from my clothing. "But just watch over him for now."

I turn around and walk out, willing myself not to cry over the part of myself that I've lost.

* * *

><p>Isabelle is waiting for me when I get back in the car. She's moved to the driver's seat, and I let her drive back home without protest.<p>

"What'd you do that for?" she asks me. "I'm sorry, but it's not like she's alive to reply to tell you that it's okay. Besides, if you're gonna apologize to anyone—which I don't think you should, but whatever—it should be him."

I don't really have an answer for her. She has no idea how right she is. On the (deliberately slow) walk back to the car, I realize what a fucking idiot I was. Of course apologizing to Mrs. Wayland wouldn't change a goddamn thing. She's _dead_. Why was I thinking that it'd make me feel better?

Because it made _him _feel better.

She sighs. "I'm sorry. I'm being a bitch. Did it make you feel better at all?"

I shake my head and stare out the window.

"You apologized to someone. It's a start," she offers, but I can't think of it like that. I didn't apologize to the right person.

And it makes me a terrible person, but I'm not sure I _want _to apologize to the right person.

Sure, last night was different. He was open and vulnerable and honest, and I have to value that. But, if all it's gonna take is some alcohol, if he can't be the way he was last night when he's sober, then what's the point of trying?

We arrive at the house. Jace is still here, helping my brother clean up the mess of the party. I can't look at him—can't look at either of them, actually, because I'm mad at my brother for throwing the damn party, and mad at Jace for everything, and mad at myself.

"Where'd you go?" asks Jon. "You just kind of ran out."

"We drove around." The lie makes its way out of my mouth and into the air before I can stop it. "I just didn't feel too good. But I'm fine now. Just tired."

I can feel Jace's gaze on me, but I focus on my brother. "Fiiiine," he groans. "You can nap. Go. I'm the best brother ever!" He calls after me.

Isabelle knows better than to follow me up. I seriously need to be alone.

And when I am, I feel like I'm gonna scream.

THAT WAS SO DUMB.

Seriously, what'd I think it was gonna solve? Did I think Jace's dead mom could give me the answers to my questions? That telling her would somehow make me feel, like, SO MUCH BETTER? I feel like punching myself in the face for a) running out when I'm clearly exhausted and b) thinking that such a ridiculous idea could work. Any idiot could figure out that it wouldn't.

But it works so well for him. He, like, sits down on the grass and talks to his mom and it just _works. _Maybe it's because he was drunk, or something. He sounded like he was at peace when he left.

I need that feeling. I need to sound and feel at peace.

I lie down with my headphones in my ears, hoping to relax. The music fills my mind, tells me to relax.

But the problem with my relaxing music is that it is also my sad music, which is how I start to cry.

_Don't let me tumble away  
><em>_Into the throws of this shadowy bay  
><em>_I cling to the rock  
><em>_And it's crumbling off  
><em>_Toss me a heavy rope  
><em>_It's a slippery slope_

I let the song take over the way I feel. It brings out the sadness I feel, the guilt that's threatened to overcome me for days now. I wish I could say that hating Jace has been easy, that every insult has been the best thing I've ever said to someone. I wish I could say that I enjoy it.

Sometimes I do. I even think it's easy. But then it hits me—the things I've said, the way I've said them—and I don't think it's ever going to be okay.

Today is the day it hits me.

After the song ends, another plays, and so on. I let the sad melodies, the slow guitars and pianos, wash over me. I let them make my tears fall, because they were gonna fall anyway. I'm glad that there's no sobbing, because I would not be able to take it if they heard me cry.

I don't know how long it's been, but I hear the familiar plinking sound by my window, the one that indicates Jace is throwing something at it. I sigh and get up.

He's sitting in his window, looking calm and collected and not like the boy I saw last night. He takes in my puffy eyes and bed head and frowns, but doesn't say anything. Thank _god_. I do not need his comments right now.

"What's up?" I ask, sitting in my window.

"You've been crying."

Great observational skills he has.

"What do you want?" I snap.

"To talk."

"Can we do this later?"

"I'd rather do it now."

I sigh. Well, it's gonna happen eventually. "Alright. I'll be over in a minute."

"Wait, what?"

I roll my eyes and look at him like he's slow. Because he is. "I can't have this conversation with you like this, can I?"

He smirks. "Has to be here, huh?" Jace waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

I shake my head. "Just be ready to open the door for me."

I close my window and make my way into my bathroom. I run a brush through my hair, trying to tame it. I gather my phone and a jacket and step out the front door. My brother isn't anywhere to be seen, and Izzy appears to have left, which is perfect. No one stops me.

The door is open when I arrive. I make my way in, assuming that's what Jace wants me to do, and close the door. The house is so silent that the otherwise soft motion resonates.

"Hey." Jace has an apple in hand and a smile on his face. "So we're talking."

I nod. "We're talking."

It's awkward to have an arranged talk. I feel like this is a lesson I'll value for the rest of my life.

He takes me upstairs. I know we're headed for his bedroom before I'm actually there. I wish I could stop him, but I've been curious to see the whole thing.

I'm not missing much. It's the same thing: same bare, white walls; same bed; same eerie neatness. I sit down on the rolling chair that stands in between his bed and his desk and wait.

Jace clears his throat and sits at the edge of his bed. "So. Last night. About that." He shifts, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry for ruining your sketchbook."

I seriously can't handle this. "Are you KIDDING me?" I've totally lost any shred of self-control left in my body. "You could say so many things, you know, like maybe mention that your mom's dead and that you took me to the cemetery yesterday or maybe that, hey, you were an absolute dick to me last year, but NO. You apologize for the millionth time because you ruined my SKETCHBOOK?"

He chews on his bottom lip. "It was a really nice sketchbook."

I stand up and turn toward the door.

"Okay, wait," Jace calls out. I turn, tapping my feet. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for getting totally wasted and stuff. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my mom. Though, to be fair, you haven't been the easiest to talk to since I moved here." He raises his eyebrows. "So you can't expect for me to spill my secrets."

"I was willing to talk to you last year, and look where it got me." The words are harsh, and he knows it.

But he doesn't show it. "Clary, I'm sorry. But I do mean it when I say you don't know the whole story."

"Then what is it, Jace?" I bite my lip to keep it from quivering. "What's the whole story? Because I'm giving up here."

Jace sighs. "Just promise me you'll listen."

"Yeah, okay. I promise."

"Back when we had that assignment going on, I was pretty damn happy." Hearing him acknowledge this after these two months we've had is crazy, but I let him keep going. "I mean, you were there, and you heard me talk about my shit, and I got to know you. And I liked you. You were cool. You know I liked you." He's ranting now. "But my personal life was shit, which you also know, and a day after the assignment was done, my dad was waiting for me in my room and told me that, after finals, I was leaving. Moving back to New York.

"I didn't have time to message you for a while, which I'd told you about, because of finals. So I took finals and whatever, right? And then, before I left, I tried to email you—but they disabled my email account, because I was no longer a student. I didn't know they could do that, but apparently they can. Anyway, so I went and asked for them to enable it, but they couldn't. I went to my AP English teacher and asked for your information, but they couldn't give that to me either. So I had no way of talking to you. No matter how much I needed to or wanted to, I couldn't contact you."

"So why didn't you tell me, you jackass?" Tears prick the back of my eyes, but I refuse—I _refuse_—to let them fall. "All you had to do was explain yourself, but it's been two whole months."

He closes his eyes quickly and opens them up again. "Because you hated me." It sounds simple coming from him. "You hated me, and you wouldn't have listened. I needed to wait until you'd listen and try to understand."

As much as I hate to admit that he's right, I do see his point. I definitely wouldn't have listened. I would've thought that every word coming out of his mouth was a stray dog's shit. I hated him so much that I didn't realize that maybe he was right when he said there was more to the story than I thought.

But still. "You could've tried."

"I couldn't fail." He holds my gaze. "It had to be the right timing. I couldn't have you hate me forever."

My heart softens, but my expression doesn't. "You could've _tried_. These are all assumptions. They are NOT facts."

"So you're saying you would've listened to me explain?" He's still looking at me with an _I know more about this _look that makes me want to say something to wipe it off. He looks like a know-it-all, and it pisses me off. "You're saying you would've sat down without yelling and tried to understand what I just told you?"

I would not have. "That's not the point."

"I know you, Clary Fray."

"No," I say. "You don't."

"Just—" He takes a deep breath. "I told you the truth. I am so sorry, Clary, for hurting you and for not saying anything. I know I fucked up. I keep fucking up with you. But I want to stop. I wanna make things right." His eyes are a plea, his expression one I have wanted him to wear since last winter.

I look away from him. "I need to think about this." I stand up and make my way out. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

I don't stay long enough to hear his reply.

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think! <em>

_P.S. The song in this chapter is the acoustic version of "Heavy Rope" by Lights. :) _


	22. Chapter 21

_Hi, guys! First of all, thank you so, so much for reading/favoriting/following/reviewing this story and all of my other stories. It really means the world to me. :) Secondly, I'd like to thank my beta, IWriteNaked, for being the best all the time. I'd also like to thank DeathCabForMari and spikeyhairgood, because these two, along with IWriteNaked, basically let me rant to them about pretty much everything I do ever, whether it's college or The 100 (which I'm obsessed with, by the way). So, you three are amazing. Thank you for everything. :) _

_Another thing I wanted to bring up is the subject of rudeness. Thankfully, this hasn't happened to me, but it's happened to several authors on this site, one of them being my friend, IWriteNaked. Now, while we usually laugh about people being rude to her when she says that she doesn't owe her readers any updates, things have been getting really out of hand lately. So many people have called her "rude" and "disrespectful" and told her that she is undeserving of the following she has, and I find that extremely atrocious. She doesn't owe you anything. She isn't getting paid to write for you. This isn't her job. This is a _**_hobby_**_, not an obligation, and you guys need to be grateful that, despite everything that goes on in her life, she still makes time to update for you at all. The same thing goes for every other author who has received these messages. And the thing that really makes me angry is that, when she tries to say (and not in a rude way, by the way) that she makes the rules and that she updates when she wants, people give her even more shit. You don't own the people on this website. They write because they find time in their busy lives to write, and they post things because they want to hear feedback or just generally want to share with the world what they've created. If you like something, show your support! Leave constructive criticism, maybe! But don't offend/rush/pressure someone and expect them to sit there and take it, because you, as a person, would not want someone to be an asshole to you and then get even more hate for standing up to that person. So, in conclusion: people update when they want, and they do what they want with **their **stories, and rude, pathetic comments aren't gonna change that. Again, this hasn't happened to me, and I love all of my readers and the comments they leave on my stories, but it has happened to a close friend (and to many, many authors on this website!), and it annoys me. So, yeah. _

_Sorry for the long AN! I hope you like this chapter!_

* * *

><p>"Seriously?" Isabelle asks.<p>

I nod. "Seriously."

"I think his excuse is okay." She bites her lip. "I mean, okay, I _know _why you would be frustrated and pissed and whatever else you are at the moment, but you can't blame him. You've literally been an ice queen to him the entire time he's lived here. And I've taught you well, so you can be scary."

I guess I never really thought I could be like Isabelle, scary and all.

I sigh. "I don't know, Iz. I'm still super mad that he never once tried to tell me the truth, even though he knew his lies were what made me mad for so long. He's Jace, sure, and he's charming and his excuses are greeeeeeeeat, but forgiveness isn't that easy to give."

She nods. "I know. But, look, he's not asking you to get married and go off into the sunset tomorrow. He's just asking for forgiveness," she says. "It's all about baby steps, Clary. Aaaaaaall about baby steps."

I roll my eyes and glue my eyes to the screen, where _She's All That _is playing. We're supposed to be babysitting Max, but he's reading a comic in his room. Whatever. He's a good kid. He can take care of himself and the dangers that come with reading. You know, like paper cuts, broken hearts over fictional characters—the whole thing.

But it's not too long before I speak again. "It's just," I say, "that he could've made it easy and explained. I'm not irrational."

Izzy stares. "You're kidding, right?"

"I am NOT irrational."

"You are when you're pissed," she says. "Seriously, you have yourself figured out in a super wrong way. He did the right thing, keeping himself out of trouble with you and waiting until the timing was right."

I glare at her. "Why are you defending him?" I set my jaw.

She sighs and pauses the movie. "I'm not. I just wish—"

But I never know what she wishes for, because Alec Lightwood walks through the door with his glittery boyfriend before she can utter another word.

Alec Lightwood and Magnus Bane. Their story is fairly simple. Magnus moved here from England to start high school, and they became friends. It was complicated, because Alec's parents have never been very supportive of gay people, and the first thing Magnus made known aside from the fact that he was sparkly and fabulous was that he was really gay.

So Alec warmed up to him by their sophomore year of high school. The universe threw them at each other—school projects, activities, their mutual hatred of sports, you name it—and, eventually, Alec developed a crush on him at the end of sophomore year.

He didn't say anything until, at the end of the first semester of junior year, Magnus basically told him to cut the crap and tell him how he felt. Alec is apparently not as subtle as he thinks he is.

Their relationship stayed a secret for the entire second semester of their junior year. It bothered Magnus to no end, but he was willing to give Alec all the time he needed, because he had met the Lightwoods, and he knew. He knew it would not be easy. So he waited. And he waited. And he waited.

And then, one day, right before their senior year of high school started, Magnus told Alec that they should take a break.

Never have I seen a Lightwood so utterly devastated because of a guy before. Alec cried and cried until I felt like he had shed enough tears to flood all of New York. I was there. I wiped his eyes and I told him to go to Magnus and invite him to dinner. I told him to apologize. I told him to tell Maryse and Robert. I told him to be brave, because no one could be brave for him.

And, the first week of senior year, Alec came out to his parents. It took an extra week, but he and Magnus were back together pretty quickly, and it made us super happy to see him that way. Isabelle called them Malec and took pictures of them when they weren't looking, which is the first of many signs that my best friend is insane when it comes to love.

Anyway, the two of them have been happily together ever since. I haven't seen them since January, and I find myself rushing over to the two of them.

They give me hugs and laugh at me. Magnus makes a comment about how much I _haven't _grown, and Alec smacks his shoulder.

Just like old times.

"This is perfect!" Isabelle is clapping like a seal again. This usually means something bad. "We need your help. Or, rather, I need your help to tell Clary that she's being an idiot."

Isabelle tells them about Jace. She starts from the beginning: last semester, in AP English, blah blah blah. The two of them know the beginning, so they're confused as to why she's telling me this, but then she gets to the part about Jace moving to New York, to our city, to the house next door, and their eyes widen and fill with understanding. They eagerly listen to the rest of the story. While Alec struggles to remain stoic for my sake, Magnus's gaze says FORGIVE HIM more than anything else. Seriously. You'd think a guy who's been hurt by someone as much as he has would back me up on this, but apparently not.

"It's like Isabelle says," Alec tells me. "You don't have to be his girlfriend. You can start off with forgiveness. You can be his friend. Maybe that's all you'll want to be, anyway. Better not to rush into this."

"I agree," says Magnus. "Except you should skip the whole friends part and jump straight into the humping like bunnies and having babies part."

Alec smacks his shoulder again. He smiles at me. "Do what you think is right and what you're ready for. If you're ready to forgive him, then do it, and don't be scared about him expecting too much of you. But if you can't forgive him yet, then ask for time."

Izzy shrugs. "It's good advice."

I invite all of them over to my house tomorrow, which is when Alec and Magnus leave (but they leave at night, so they have time to hang out). I'd forgotten they were coming, but they arrived on Thursday and Izzy begged for them to watch Max on Friday, so today has been their off day. I leave thirty minutes after, once the movie is over, saying I have stuff to take care of.

I don't. I just need to drive around and think without people suggesting things and giving me advice. I appreciate it all, but I need to be alone and think.

I drive home, even though it's the last place I want to be. Mom calls to check up on me, and I say I'm fine. I don't need her to freak out over anything that isn't her work life.

Jace is sitting on the couch when I get to my house. "It's like he lives here," I mutter to myself. I walk up to him and plop down by his side, taking the remote from his hands and scrolling through the list of shows and movies airing.

"What're you two up to?" I ask without look up. I'm suddenly fascinated by the listings.

"Watching a movie." He's eyeing me. "Is there anything you wanna tell me?"

"Later." I give the remote back to him. "See you around."

"Yeah," he echoes. "See you."

* * *

><p>I knock on his door at 10pm, and he answers. It figures he'd be home alone. His dad is still working. Jace says he works late nights, with his actual job and all the divorce crap.<p>

"Can I come in?"

He nods and allows me to come in. The house is spotless, as if no one lived in it. I go up to his room. This time, it's him following me, trying to catch up with the wheels that turn in my mind. I don't exactly know what I'm doing. I wasn't planning on talking to him, but, at 9:51pm, I said, "Fuck it," and walked out. I just walked out, and I didn't look back, and now I'm here, my heart beating like a drum against my chest, and I don't know what to say.

"So," Jace says, leaving his bedroom door open, but closing the window and drawing the curtains together, "why are you here? Not that I'm not glad to see you, but, I mean, you hate me."

He really believes that I hate him. I don't blame him, because I did hate him up until, like twenty-four hours ago, but still. "I don't hate you." My voice sounds weak. I clear my throat. "I came here to say that I forgive you. For everything. I know that it's been hard for you, and I've made it really difficult, too, so I'm just sorry, I guess."

He looks surprised, but all he says is, "What changed your mind?"

"I went to talk to your mom," I blurt out. DAMN IT. So much for keeping it a secret. "I told her that I was sorry for treating her son like dirt. I mean, I didn't know then the full story about what happened, but I felt kind of guilty. I'm not usually that mean, you know." I give him a soft smile. "And then, after we talked, I went to Isabelle's house for a bit. We babysat Max and watched a movie, and her older brother, Alec, came in with his boyfriend, and of course Izzy told them everything, and they gave me some advice. They told me to do what I was ready to do, and I didn't think I was ready to forgive you, not until I told myself that I was."

He looks at me with his painfully golden eyes. "You talked to my mom?"

I nod, feeling, once again, like an idiot. "I'm sorry if I wasn't supposed to. I just—you seemed so at peace when you talked to her, and I just—"

His grin shuts me up. He's not grinning because he's annoying me, which is a first, or because he knows something I don't. He's actually happy. I find myself liking the sight.

"You talked to my mom."

"Yes, Jace, we've established this." My cheeks are probably the color of my hair.

"Does this mean we're friends now?" He's unsuccessfully trying to wipe the smile off his face.

I roll my eyes. "It means we're trying. Okay?"

"Got it." He pauses. "Does this mean I call you Fray?"

"I'm leaving."

"FRAAAAAAAAAY."

I can't help but giggle as I make my way down the stairs. He doesn't follow me, which is even better, because, even though I forgive him, I don't want him to see me red-cheeked and giggling like an absolute idiot.

* * *

><p>My brother's playing video games when I come into our house. "Hi. So. Listen. A girl's coming over later."<p>

I sit down next to him. "Later? It's ten. Mom and Luke get back tomorrow."

He waves me off. "She'll be gone before 7am. They always have to be back at their place by then."

"I do not want to sleep here if you're gonna be having sex while I'm trying to fall asleep."

He shrugs. "Sleep at Jace's?"

It's such a simple idea. Two days ago, I would have been absolutely horrified at the thought. Now, though, I just ask my brother if he's sure, and, when he says yes, I call Jace to ask if he's okay.

"Ready to get some of this, Fray?"

I roll my eyes. "Not exactly. Just…can I stay?"

Jace sighs. "If you must."

Which is how I find myself with a bag of clothes and stuff in Jace's room fifteen minutes later. He explains to me that I have to sleep in here with him because his dad would kill him if he found me in any of the other rooms. This, he said, he can take the heat for.

I roll with it.

"Is this weird for you?" he asks.

"What?"

"Sleeping with a guy you've spent months hating."

"We're not sleeping together." I motion to the mattress he's set up for me. "And not really. I'm thinking of it as our first slumber party?"

He looks amused at the idea. "What do you want to do in this slumber party?"

"We need to watch a movie and make popcorn and dip it in Nutella. And there must be a pillow fight, because I will kick your sorry ass."

Jace grins at me. It's the second one I've gotten from him tonight, and it feels like an accomplishment. There is a glint in his eyes as he smiles. "Bring it ON, Fray."

I cannot handle teenage boys.

* * *

><p>I made him watch <em>It's A Boy Girl Thing<em> while we ate popcorn and commented on it, which was surprisingly comforting and not at all weird. It is weird, though, to imagine myself sleeping in the same room as him when it isn't because of a party or anything. I sigh and watch as he turns off the TV.

After the movie ended, I made him have a pillow fight with me. Of course, he insisted that he was not going easy on me, but I saw and felt the hesitation in his eyes. It made me feel like an idiot, to think that a guy would actually care about hurting me when we're fighting with goddamn pillows, but I didn't question it. I didn't question him, which seemed to have pleased him. I guess he's just scared that, even after all this time, he can still hurt me. That he can make it hurt badly. I guess it must suck to be scared of hurting the ones you care about so often.

We fall back on his bed, exhausted. I, of course, immediately register that our two bodies are inches apart from each other. If I reach over, I could touch him. If I reach over, the warmth of his skin will fill me with my own warmth. I don't know how I feel about that, about the possibility of him being close to me in every imaginable way. It's scary, exciting, powerful. I've finally let him into my life after spending so much time trying to shut him out.

Arguably, two months isn't that much time, but it is to me when I spent half of my winter/fall loving him, in a way. I loved his friendship and the way we would talk to each other with confidence despite not actually knowing each other. I loved the way we communicated, and the way there was no judgment in the way we talked to each other. And I miss it. I don't reach over, though.

I clear my throat. "Uh, is there a bathroom where I can change? I sort of need to."

"Yeah," says Jace with a smile. "It's to the left." He looks amused, as if I should have known that the bathroom was there the whole time. I realize too late that it's because it's basically the same as mine.

I change into my plain black yoga pants and long-sleeved loose shirt. Jace is lying down on his bed, looking at his phone. When I walk into the room, he looks up and gives me a half-smile.

"Your brother was checking in," he says, waving his phone around. "I told him I'm basically your bitch now."

I almost choke. "That's nice."

"Seriously, I don't think there's anyone else I'd watch stupid yet ridiculously entertaining movies with. As a matter of fact, the same thing goes for pillow fights."

I roll my eyes at him, but, when he says stuff like that, it gives me hope. It makes me think that maybe we can become really good friends, the kind I thought we were before despite our geographic difference.

"Glad to hear that."

He waits until I'm settled down on the mattress to speak. "I got into my dream college."

I had forgotten that Jace is a senior and that most colleges notified their applicants this week whether or not they'd gotten in. I suspect that my brother's been avoiding his email, but Jace has not. "Really?"

His smile makes me want to smile, but I can't bring myself to. "Columbia University."

It's not too far away, I think.

"Wow." I breathe out. "So you're basically a genius, right?"

His smile widens and changes into a grin, one of the few that he reserves for moments of pure happiness. "Basically."

I give him a smile. I don't know why, but the thought of him going to study elsewhere kind of made me panic for a second there. I wish I could yell at myself for it, but I am so relieved that I can't.

"Congrats."

"Thanks." He gets under the covers. "I worked my butt off for that, and now I have it, and it's…amazing."

"I can imagine."

"What's yours?"

"My what?"

"Dream school," Jace explains. "You apply next year, right?"

"Right." I pause, even though I don't have to think about it. I've wanted the same school for the longest time in my entire life. "I wanna go to NYU Tisch and study art."

He whistles appreciatively. "That's a good school."

I give him a mocking stare. "Says the guy going to an Ivy League."

He chuckles. "True, true."

I get under the covers, too, appreciating their warmth. Jace turns off the lights, but we don't say goodnight.

"Hey, Clary?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for forgiving me."

I smile for what seems like the rest of the night.

* * *

><p><em>Things with them changed drastically in this chapter, but this doesn't mean that they're going to jump straight into a romantic relationship. Just so you know. Also, just because they're growing closer doesn't mean the story's end is close! There are still approximately 10-11 more chapters to go. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter! Let me know what you think. :) <em>


	23. Chapter 22

_Heeey, guys. I totally forgot that it was Friday, so this update almost didn't happen. Fun fact: college apps are killing me, and I stayed up until 5am. Oh god. Anywayyy, I hope you guys are having a nice winter break (if it's started for you) or a nice day/week/whatever. Y'know what I mean. Thank you to IWriteNaked for being the best beta out of all the betas in the beta world, to DeathCabForMari for being the best nieta anyone could ever have, and to spikeyhairgood for letting me rant about the midseason finale of The 100 for, like, ever. I love you guys. :) _

_*I wanted to make a quick note. In my last AN, I mentioned rudeness and all that, specifically the one I've seen directly in regards to IWriteNaked. Someone said that, though she understands where I'm coming from, she feels as if IWriteNaked is rude because of the way she expresses herself. And, like, I'm not saying that she's being the nicest person in the world, because maybe she isn't being the nicest person to the people who've insulted her/been rude, but that's because she has absolutely no reason to take other people's crap and respond in a decent manner. If someone's rude to you, and you have the balls to say something back and stand up for yourself and not be treated like a doormat, then yeah, you should do it, and you should be respected for it. The thing about her, just like it is with a lot of people (myself included), is that we're nice to everyone who treats us in the same manner. If people are respectful and nice and considerate, we will be those three things right back at them. But if people are rude, you can't tell me that I will always have to be nice to them back. I understand that it may not be the ideal thing to reply to someone the way they talk to you, but, well, it's only fair. "Treat others the way you want to be treated." She wasn't the one who started the comments; she's just replying to them. Same thing goes to every other author on here who's experienced this same issue. We respect people who respect us, but the second you break that, we won't just sit there and take it. That's all. By the way, this isn't something against this specific person (whose name I decided not to add) personally; it's just something I want to clarify overall, because maybe I didn't emphasize that enough last time.* _

_Wow, that got really long. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Thank you for reading!_

* * *

><p>We have the rest of the week off for spring break, so it's mostly Jon telling us that he got accepted into Syracuse University, Purdue University, and Rutgers.<p>

My brother can be pretty indecisive when faced with big decisions. So, while Jace has already notified Columbia that he's going to be attending next fall, my brother is biting his nails and looking at the three (now printed out) acceptance letters like they'll come to life and tell him why he should choose them. I sigh. It is ridiculous.

On Wednesday, Jace comes over. He sits on the couch and patiently answers my brother's questions about making up his mind and college and what he should consider and blah, blah, blah. (I should probably mention that my brother is not a genius and got rejected from two universities, so the fact that he got in and that he has three universities to choose from is slightly overwhelming for him.)

Jace convinces my brother to play video games. I join them minutes after they start, mostly because they're playing Super Mario Bros., which is one of my favorites (and one of the few I own that can actually be played in multiplayer while still being a hell of a lot of fun.)

My mom comes in at around 1pm. It's her lunch break, and sometimes she comes home, but I forgot that today would be one of those days. When she comes in, I tell the guys to disconnect my controller and walk over to her, giving her a quick hug.

She jerks her head toward Jon. "Is he still deciding on the whole college thing?"

I nod. "He asked Jace to give him some advice."

"Speaking of," she says, voice low, "it seems like you two are getting along better."

I try not to give away too much and choose to shrug. "I guess. Anyway, what do you want him to do? Do you want him to go to Indiana, or do you want him to stay nearby?"

Mom sighs and waits for her food to heat up. "I love Jon, and I want whatever he decides is best for him. It would be nice to have him around," she concedes, "but the choice is his."

It's hard for my mother to let go of some things. When I was four years old and about to go into Pre-K, my mother cried harder than I did. When I stopped wearing the pigtails she loved to do, she seemed sadder. I guess I get it from her, then, the fact that I hang on to things and don't want to let go.

But she's doing a fantastic job of pretending like it's fine, like her son leaving to college and her daughter following a year after is not a disaster. Like she can handle it. Maybe that won't be total bullshit, what with the store taking off and all. Maybe it'll be good.

There are too many maybes.

"So what are you up to?"

I sigh. "Not much. Simon and Izzy took Max to a movie, since she's back on babysitting duty after Alec and Magnus left."

"How are those two, anyway? Sorry I missed them," Mom says, sounding genuine about it.

I tell Mom about seeing them briefly on Saturday, though I obviously don't go into detail about what went on that day. Instead, I tell her about Sunday, about how they all came over and we basically had a huge movie morning/early afternoon and we talked about life and college and boys while watching rom-coms from the 90s.

Alec told us he switched majors, going from International Relations to Finance. Magnus told us he'd finally decided on a major, saying he was going into Gender Studies with a minor in History. They kept going on about school until Isabelle told them to shut up, because Josh was about to kiss Cher on screen, and that was a moment for the entire room to shut up.

"That seems nice," she comments between bites of her pasta. "So, um, how are things going with that guy you were seeing? Jackson? James?"

"Jordan." My cheeks are hot. "It didn't work out. We stopped seeing each other, though we're still friends."

"That's good. Being friends is good. I'm glad you got out there and got experience, though. He seemed like a good kid." She smiles at me and throws away her plastic plate. "I gotta head back to work, but keep an eye on those two, okay? See you later."

"Bye," I call out after her, walking back into the living room only after the door has shut behind her. The two guys are talking about college again. I suppress a groan and walk over to the couch.

"—not that hard," Jace says. "You're complicating this. You just have to go to Indiana before you make that choice. And then to New Jersey. And then to Syracuse."

"So…road trip?"

And that is how those two idiots end up planning the weirdest road trip of all time, for which they would leave at four in the morning tomorrow. I listen to the weird plans (they'll never wake up at four, let alone leave by then) and wish I could be a part of it, but this is something that is just for them. This is their friendship, and I need to let them have it.

Jon calls my mom, and Jace lets his dad know, and this is really happening. They promise to be back by Sunday. I don't actually know where they're going first, but I hope they can get there. To all of those places. Because choices are the one thing my brother can't make with ease (along with food, but we forgive him for that), and this is one that could potentially affect the rest of his professional life.

I watch him go up to pack and smile. Jace is still sitting on the couch, trying to get a hold of his dad. He shrugs. "Guess I'll just leave him a note."

"So this road trip. Were you planning this the entire time?"

He grins. "Maybe."

I shake my head. "Have fun, okay? And don't crash a party and get shitfaced, because you two need to be here by Sunday, or my mother is going to cut off your balls."

Jace rolls his eyes. "Yeah, okay."

"Make sure he makes up his mind."

"I will."

"See you Sunday?"

"You definitely will."

* * *

><p>In the days that my brother and Jace are not here, I'm mostly alone.<p>

This gives me a lot of time to reflect on everything. I've forgiven Jace. We get along. Like, really well. Freakishly well. I don't know if it should worry me that we're getting along so well, especially considering the fact that I've been telling myself repeatedly that I'll take my time bonding with him and building back the trust I lost.

I keep going back to the night I spent over at his house. To the ease I felt when we were watching a movie and talking about it like I do with Isabelle. To the pillow fight we had, when I dissolved into a fit of giggles—giggles, which is totally gross—when he tackled me once. I mean, like, okay. Let's think about this. On one hand, Jace is trying pretty hard to regain my trust and is being respectful and whatever. On the other hand, though…he hurt me. And, even though he's already given me an admittedly valid excuse for it and has tried to make up for it, that's not something you simply forget.

I'm sketching and listening to music. It's an upbeat music kind of day, and I'm basically dancing on the inside while I draw. Isabelle would tell me that I'm boring and ask me how I don't get lonely. The truth is, I do. I get lonely. But, in days like these, when it's raining out and the music fills me with incredible happiness and my new sketchbook (one Jace left the morning they left with a note saying I'd apologize again, but I feel like you'll hate it, so I'll just say I'll miss you), I'm okay with being alone, even if the lingering loneliness haunts me.

As I draw, I let my mind wander. I let myself imagine a scenario in which I tell Jace to fuck off and that his excuses are not enough. That his excuses will never be enough. I imagine the look on his face, the brokenness that would be there for less than a second before he'd go back to whistling or smirking and making his usual comments as if nothing were wrong.

I don't like that version of reality. I like Jace. It has taken a lot of tears and internal arguments to reach that conclusion, but I do. I like him best when he's honest, preferably when he's drunk and holds nothing back. My favorite memory is when I went with him to the cemetery, though it led to the demise of my favorite sketchbook. (Which, by the way, I'll always use to make him feel guilty, assuming we are ready for there to be an "always" in any sort of way.)

I think I wanna have him stick around.

My phone begins to ring. I pause my music and answer it, not bothering to check the caller ID. "Hello?"

"Hey," Jon says. "We're bored. Also, you're on speaker."

I roll my eyes. "Where are you guys?"

"Passing through Ohio on our way to Syracuse," says Jace. "Your brother really loved Purdue. He ruled out Rutgers, so it's down to Syracuse and Purdue now."

"Sounds like you're making real progress." I can't help but smile at the sound of his voice. He's become such a constant figure in my life that it's weird to have him gone.

"I hate this whole decision-making thing," Jon pipes up. "Seriously, it's making me not wanna eat. What's up with that?"

I snort. "Sounds like you have a real problem there."

I can hear Jace's smile as he speaks. "How about you? What've you been up to?"

I shrug, then remember that they can't see me, and decide to speak. "Um, not much. I've been sketching today. It's raining here. I've mostly been alone, which is nice. I miss spending time by myself."

"You're so weird." This comes from Jon, who is used to being surrounded by people. He doesn't make real friends easily, sure, but he's popular at school, which means people are his "friend" all the time and girls are always offering themselves to him. It's ridiculous, really.

"Aaaaanyway," I add, "I have to go. Got to finish this drawing and then feed myself. I hope you figure it out, Jon."

"Me too. Byeeeee."

Jace laughs. "I'll talk to you later."

"Bye, guys." I hang up on them and go back to my drawing.

I think Jace has more confidence when he's not looking at me. I mean, just then, he sounded more at ease with the idea of being my friend and having a friendly conversation with me. It's weird, but I also kind of welcome it. Despite that, though, I tell myself that I have to be patient and take this slowly. We'll be nearly an hour apart the next school year, and we could end up farther apart the year after that. Everything right now is uncertain, and I can't make myself hurry it up with the trust knowing that.

I finish my drawing—it's the same one I was doing the night Jace barfed all over my old sketchbook, the one with Super Mario Bros. characters—and close my sketchbook, rubbing my eyes. Inspiration has left me, and now I'm drained. I go downstairs, hoping that I'll feel hungry, but I don't. I feel…fine. Normal. Totally okay. But I know I should eat, so I take three oranges and a cup of water and make my way back up.

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think! xo<em>


	24. Chapter 23

_Hi, guys! So I did skip an update this week, because I was rushing to submit all of my applications + we're having a huuuuge party on Saturday so I've had to face reality and actually unpack the things that remained in boxes (from when I moved). So that + Christmas = busy me. Anywaaay, now that I'm finally able to update, here's the next chapter! Thanks so much to IWriteNaked for beta'ing, and to DeathCabForMari and spikeyhairgood for being awesome and supportive and the best. You three are the best. :) _

_To Blondiegurlz7431: I'm not sure what you meant with your review, but yeah. I can read your reviews. :) _

_To Alexa: So, I usually update twice a week (either Tuesdays and Fridays OR Wednesdays and Saturdays, depending on my schedule for the week), except this week I missed an update, which I usually don't do. Anyway, yeah. Thanks for the review! _

_I hope you guys like this chapter! Thanks for reading. :) _

* * *

><p>By the time Sunday rolls around, I'm actually excited.<p>

I'm good at being by myself for a while. I watch movies, do all the work I'm supposed to do, listen to music, sketch, think, whatever. I even looked at colleges this week, some that weren't Tisch and stuff. And, you know, it felt good. Great, even. I felt perfectly happy with it. I signed up for the June SAT and felt like I was doing something with my life other than doodling and thinking about being productive without actually doing anything.

But by Saturday, it was driving me insane. I needed company. I was used to people always being there, whether it was Jace being annoying or my brother being gross or Isabelle being a nosy idiot or Simon being the loving, supportive friend he has always been. Hell, I even took my parents coming in and having lunch as company, but there's been no one around lately. Sure, my parents have been coming in late and therefore talk to me because I'm still up, but it's not company. I miss my friends. And my brother. And Jace.

Yeah. Not quite ready to label Jace as my friend yet.

They told me that they would be in by 4pm, and it's 3:48pm right now. So. 12 minutes. Lovely.

Here is the thing: I am not patient. I'm surprised I managed to go two months without exploding on Jace. My impatience is partly what makes me not want to have kids, and what makes (made?) me fight with pretty much everyone in my family. When I want something done, it has to be my way.

So you can imagine what I'm feeling when the clock ticks and ticks and ticks and still, no Jace and Jon.

I sigh. This is ridiculous, anyway. What kind of loser sits around waiting for her brother and his best friend, anyway?

This one.

I start browsing through the TV channels. The couch is extra comfy, but that's probably because anything seems comfy right now. I didn't sleep very well—or at all, really—because I kept dreaming of snakes. Weird. Anyway, I find a sappy movie that'll probably be bad enough to keep me intrigued, and I settle down to watch it.

When I wake up, it's because someone is shaking me. I suddenly do not remember where or who I am, nor do I remember how I got here. It takes me a second to get the facts straight. I am Clary, this is my living room, and I got here by myself. Great.

My brother is the one shaking me. He looks tired, but he's smiling. "Did you fall asleep waiting for us?"

I shake my head, but he knows I'm lying. "I fell asleep watching a movie." Not technically a lie.

He snorts. "That's cute. Well, we made it. You should sleep, though. You look tired."

"I just slept for, like, three hours." I groan. "I need more sleep."

"So go get it. Goodnight, Clary."

"Wait." I scramble, positioning myself so I'm sitting down. It makes me feel a little dizzy, but I don't care. "Did you decide yet?"

"Yeah." He smiles at me. "I decided."

* * *

><p>My brother breaks the news to my mother that he'll be attending Purdue University this fall, and she starts to cry.<p>

It's not a very nice picture to paint. My mother is crying, trying to be strong, but she's holding back sobs and her face is all scrunched up, and I have to look away from their whole crying thing before I start to tear up. Luke is here, too, patting my brother's back. I think that she's crying for many reasons, the most prominent one being that he's decided to go to college in a totally different state.

"Mom," Jon whines. "Come on. It's no big deal."

My mom isn't a crier. I think that's why her own outburst pisses her off. She recomposes her demeanor and gives him a wobbly smile. "It is. You're going to college, and I'm proud of you."

She gives him a hug. He's several inches taller than her, and it looks kind of comical, but they hug anyway.

They start talking about Purdue and payments and financial aid, which my brother got, apparently, and I sit on the couch and space out. I wonder what my friends are doing. If I go upstairs and talk to Jace, would I want to kill myself after?

Probably not.

I tell my parents and brother I'm going up to my room. Not a lie. I lock the door and send Jace a text. Minutes later, we're both sitting in our windows, legs dangling. The drop seems like it would kill me, but I try not to think about that.

"So your brother told your mom about Purdue," Jace says. "How'd she take it?"

"She cried." I smirk. "It was adorable, in a puke-y kind of way. Luke was just standing there, patting my brother's back, and my mom cried for about one minute before smiling and telling my brother she was proud, and now they're talking about it." I let out a sigh. "I hope she doesn't get like that when it's me next year. Seriously."

"She probably will."

"That's a horrifying idea."

He smiles. "She cares about you. Both of you."

I feel bad, because of course he's going to say that. He doesn't have a mom. He wishes his mom were here so she could be like mine, supportive and loving and caring. His dad is never around, and his response to Jace telling him about Columbia was a grunt that sounded vaguely like "congratulations" and a pat in the back. That's it. Oh, and the promise that he'd make the deposit by the end of the week.

How reassuring.

Jace must see something in my expression that lets on to what I'm thinking, because he shakes his head. "That's not why I said it."

"I feel like a dick for acting like having a slightly overbearing mom is the worst thing in the world." I shake my head back at him. "I'm sorry."

"Is Clary Fray actually apologizing?"

Sweet moment gone. I glare at him. "Shut up, you asshat. What are you up to today?"

"Just homework."

It has been two days since he and my brother came back from their roadtrip. My mom and Luke hadn't been available for a conversation in all of that time because of their job, but they have the day off today. At night, though, they have to go to this gala or whatever. Mom wants me to go, but Simon can't be my date, and neither can Jon.

Unless...

No. That would be stupid.

"What about you?" he asks.

"Me?" I hope he isn't a mind reader, because that would complicate my life. Like, a lot. "I'm, uh, just here. I mean, my mom wanted me to go to this gala, but I don't really wanna go alone, and none of my friends can go, so I'm just staying in. Sketching. All of that."

I want to die.

"I can go with you," Jace offers. "I mean, if you want. And as a friend, obviously."

"Obviously," I echo. Would it really be the best idea to have him around? With my parents? As my date? No matter how much I tell my mother that it isn't an actual date, she'll still consider it one. I know her. She is as overbearing as an overworked parent can be. But I haven't been to an art event in forever, and I miss it. I miss standing there and looking at the things that jump out of people's minds and make their way into canvases. I miss being amongst people that love art like I do. "Okay. Fine. You can be—you can come with me."

His face lights up and he smiles. I think that there is no way that can be a good sign, but he's already back in his room before I can utter another word. "I'll pick you up at seven."

This. Boy.

I make my way downstairs and tell my mom that, never mind, I'm going to the art gala with Jace, because he, too, likes art. A bullshitty excuse, but that's fine.

"That's so wonderful!" she says to me, her eyes still red from all the crying she did with Jon. "Will he be giving you a ride?"

I nod, even though I actually don't know. "Just so we can be back and not die tomorrow from lack of sleep. You know."

"That sounds good."

I make my way back up and take the dress from my closet. It is long, black, and simple, with a silvery belt-like design in the middle. My mom bought it for me for prom, but I don't think I'm going, so I might as well do this now.

I slip it on and put on my silvery high heels. I look taller, obviously. And pretty. My hair stands out, contrasting with the black. My eyes look greener due to the redness of my hair, and I wish I didn't have to put on makeup, but I'm sure Isabelle would have a crap attack if she saw pictures of me in this gorgeous dress with the gorgeous shoes while wearing no makeup. She would disown me as a friend. As crazy as Isabelle is, I kind of don't want that to happen. Sue me.

I curl my hair so that it'll be pretty and a little bit tamer. I work on picking my makeup—black eyeliner, subtle lipstick.

Once I'm satisfied with my hair, I work on my face. I don't do a lot of damage. It looks almost as if I have no makeup on, thankfully. I work on my nails after, painting them silver. I realize that it's been a long-ass time since I've gone out, hence the overwhelming need to prepare and look pretty.

I send Jace a text, letting him know he's giving me a ride. He replies with something along the lines of "Duh," and I smile. Despite being an absolute asshole, he does have his manners. Sort of. Sometimes. When he isn't being a dick.

I finally look acceptable. I send Isabelle a picture, which results in a text that ends with ! and makes me want to go blind. She calls me, and I put on her on speaker. I'm trying to do my math homework now that I'm actually going out.

"Wait." Isabelle sounds perplexed. "Jace is your date?"

I roll my eyes. "We're going as friends, dumbass. I wanted to go, but none of you guys could go, and my brother would rather poke his eyes out than go to one of these things, so I asked Jace. Or he asked me. Whatever. It was very last minute."

"How last minute?"

"It happened an hour ago."

She sighs. "You're starting to liiiiike him."

"Not like that." I frown at the math problem in front of me. I hate school. "I like him as my friend, which is good, because I can finally call him that. My friend. I still don't entirely trust him, you know."

"Clary, now that you've forgiven him and he's given you a very valid explanation, can I say something?"

This can't be good. "Sure."

"You're giving him too much crap for doing what he did. He didn't cheat or kill somebody or whatever. He's apologized. He's been there for you. He's been patient."

"And I've forgiven him." I sigh. "You know I have a hard time trusting people, and even though he didn't break the law, he hurt my heart."

"Okaaaay."

"I gotta go."

"You look gorgeous."

"Thanks," I say, and hang up.

I know I'm giving Jace a lot of crap for what he did, but I have to, in my mind. All the crap I throw his way is a way of testing him, to see if I can trust him the way I used to. I want to tell him everything. I want to tell him how hurt I was, and the new songs I've found that I think he'd like, and movies he would fall in love with. I want to be his friend, because I remember loving it before. He's easy to talk to, what with his charms and good looks and easygoing personality. Sure, he can be kind of a pain sometimes, but he's still friend material. Like the female version of Izzy, only totally different.

He sends me a text. It's seven fifty. It says: Ready?

I take the two tickets that sit on my desk and text him that I am.

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think! <em>


	25. Chapter 24

_Hi hi! Here I am, with another update. Which I totally didn't almost forget. Because I know what day it is. Totally. _

_As per usual, thanks to IWriteNaked for being an awesome beta, and to DeathCabForMari and spikeyhairgood for being supportive and awesome and fantastic. You three are amazing, and, seeing as the year is coming to an end, I feel like I should publicly state that it has been a delight to get to know you guys this year, and I hope our respective friendships last for many, many more. :) _

_Thanks to all of you guys for reading this story. You're all amazing, and I'm grateful for all of you. Thank you for reading this story and sticking with it through its ups and downs, and for (maybe?) reading my crazy ANs this year. Thank you for supporting me and being awesome, and I hope you guys have had a nice winter break so far, and that you have an awesome new year. _

_*I wasn't going to post this, because it's unrelated to me and the story, but I find this issue incredibly important, and this particular situation incredibly heartbreaking. I'm sure that there are many more like this, and I'm sorry that I can't read up on every single one, but the case of** Leelah Acorn** has impacted me greatly. If you guys aren't familiar with this case, then please, please read up on it; all you need to do is type up her name on a search engine, and a bunch of articles will come up. I know that many of you out there are (or plan to be) parents (and this affects even the teenagers who are on this site and don't plan to have family or anything), and so it is important that you read cases like this one and understand that, regardless of your own beliefs and preferences, people are _human_. It's a very basic concept that people don't seem to comprehend in cases like this one. The way this girl was treated by her parents and the people surrounding her was cruel and inhumane, and if you could all please, pleaaase read up on her (especially her suicide note), and even donate to the causes she supports (all organizations that support transgenders), then that would be amazing. Like I said, there are an incredibly alarming amount of cases like hers, but this is the one I read today, and it is the one that impacted me, and it's the one I feel like I should share. We're starting a new year, and so, as a reminder, I just wanna tell you guys that it is important to be there for the people who need support and have a difficult time going through life because of mental illness or race or sexual preference. They don't get the support they deserve. So, even if you can't donate, please educate yourselves and read up on these cases and lend a hand to these people, because solidarity is an important value that goes a long way when it comes to people who have to suffer because of things that they simply can't help.* _

_ANYWAY, that's all. That was long, but necessary. I hope you enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

><p>"Have I told you that you look beautiful?"<p>

_Yes_. When I first made my way down the stairs and met his eyes, it was as if the whole world fell apart. Sure, we couldn't make a huge deal out of it, because we're _friends_, but I saw it in the way his eyes lit up and he tensed up. And now he's saying it again, and I want him to stop, but I also want him to keep going, to tell me all of the things I dreamed he would.

Instead, I blush. Seriously. "Thanks."

Jace opens the door of his car, the car that is familiar to me now due to the many rides he has given me, and takes my hand. I'm not used to walking in heels, so I'm kind of nervous. I grip his hand a little tight and mumble an apology, but he says it's okay and walks inside with me.

The walls are an almost-blinding, pure white, making the paintings look more astounding the first time you look at them, as if the shock you feel brings them to life. They are dark, and colorful, and passionate, and they are everything people feel and hold inside. A canvas is a way of letting your feelings out for the world to see. I've loved coming to these things since I was little. I feel Jace looking at me, but I don't care.

My mom is off to the side, talking to some people about the art. I go up to a colorful abstract painting I can't quite make out. I never tried to interpret art, because I think that would ruin its effect on me. I look at it, and I let it tell me what to feel, and confusion hits me hard as I look at this one. There's happiness in the colors but sadness in the black lines.

"It's cool," Jace says. I know he doesn't get the art, but he's trying to. It makes me like him a little bit more.

He follows me around, and I let him. I like hearing what he thinks of the different paintings. I like knowing which styles he likes, even though he doesn't see that there is a pattern to some of the paintings he chooses. I like that seeing his reaction to art is my own way of studying him. That he has his charm and his looks and his ways to get the truth out of me, but I can get it out of him by watching the tilt of his head as he looks at a sad piece, or the way his eyes light up at a happy one.

It doesn't mean I'm in love with him. I know that. It makes me the kind of person who is getting to know another, very different kind of person. Izzy would give me a speech about how that is total crap and how I'm soooo into him, but that's not true. He's what I need him to be right now: a willing friend. He came here with me, and he's telling me what he thinks of these without caring what I think of him for it. He makes me laugh with some of his comments, and maybe he doesn't know that I'm studying him and knowing him by the second, but I do. And it's great. It makes me wonder when we're going to do this again.

My mom comes up to us. She's wearing a long, flowy baby blue dress. Her hair is tied up in an elaborate, elegant bun, and she looks as radiant as the sun. "Hi, sweetie," she tells me, giving us a warm smile. "Are you two having fun?"

It's ten. We've had fun—an hour and a half of looking at paintings and letting them tell me how I feel while Jace whispers his opinions, just for me to hear. But we're exhausted, and home is thirty minutes away.

I nod to my mom. "But we have school tomorrow," I remind her. "So we should probably head out."

She gives me a hug. "Drive safe," she whispers in my ear.

We step outside, the cold air hitting me like a ton of bricks. It's almost April, and it's still cold. Though I might consider it cold because I'm not wearing a jacket. Oh well.

Jace opens the door to his Jeep for me. A perfect gentleman. I thank him and step in. The truth is, tonight has been nice. It's the most relaxed the two of us have been around each other, save for the sleepover we had a couple of nights ago. It was my first actual sleepover with a guy. I hadn't thought my first sleepover with a guy would be an actual sleepover, but that comes to show you how much of life you can't predict.

We drive and talk about the paintings. Jace doesn't really remember the names of the painters, but that's okay. He remembers them as the "really ugly, depressing painting with a bunch of gray" or "the one that practically burned my eyes because it had so much damn color" or "the one that kind of made me feel confused for absolutely no fucking reason." It's nice to hear him say what he thinks about it without holding back. He doesn't have to whisper.

"Do you paint?" he asks me.

I ponder this. "I have," I answer. "I'm just more of a drawing kind of girl. I like sketching. Working with paint is messy. I love it, but it takes the kind of patience I absolutely do not have." It's true. The fact that painting is so damn hard is one of the reasons I'm hesitant to go to Tisch as an Art major: because I'll have to paint, and painting is just something I haven't even come close to doing well, let alone mastering.

"You should practice it more," Jace says. "Practice makes perfect, and I just know you can do it if you put your mind to it. You are, after all, stubborn. And determined."

"I'm gonna take all of those as compliments."

"As you should." He smiles as if I've told a semi-funny joke, in a way that is almost a laugh, but not quite. "I'm not trying to offend you, you know."

"I know." I fight the urge to bite my lip. It's my nervous habit, but I would be tasting lip gloss, which I kind of hate. "I want to practice it more. I want to be good enough for Tisch, so I have to, you know, get familiar with all the forms of art within the idea of art. But it's hard, 'cause I'm not good at it."

He waves me off. "You will be. Clary," he says, voice dropping, "you are one of the most determined people I know. If anyone can learn how to do this, it's you. Even if it's hard and you have no patience and you suck at it."

"Hey!"

"Your words, not mine."

I feel oddly flattered by his words. Sure, he basically threw my own words back at me when he said I have no patience and suck at painting, but then he also told me I'm determined. That I can do this. It may not seem like a lot, especially coming from a guy I hated with my entire life, but it feels nice now. Good. Welcome, even.

"Thanks," I say, hoping I'm not blushing. I blush easily. "Did you have a lot of homework?"

"I got most of it done," he says. "I just have an essay to write now."

"An essay?" I smack his arm lightly. "We could've come back earlier, you assnugget."

"Thanks for your concern in my academic career," he says, one corner of his mouth quirking upward, "but I'm okay. I can write the essay when we get there. Besides," Jace adds, "it was nice to spend time with you like that. I mean, I got to see what you're passionate about. It's cool. Especially since we're getting to know each other again. Being friends. The whole thing."

He's right. I mean, do I feel guilty for dragging him out for so long when he has an essay to write and will probably go to bed at, like, three in the morning due to a mix of late arrival and procrastination? Yes. I feel slightly guilty for that. But, at the same time, he's right. We had fun. We've barely had fun together since he got here, mostly due to the fact that I hated his guts, and I finally had another good moment with him. We're building our friendship. Sure, school's important, but what's school and learning if you don't have people you care about to share your accomplishments with? Who are you and in what way does school matter if you face everything alone?

It's nice to have friends, is what I'm saying.

"Anyway, don't feel guilty." He shrugs. It's like he can read my mind. "I'll finish it up quickly. It's easy."

"What subject is it for?"

"It's for AP English," he says. "It's a literary device essay on a play. Whatever. Not important."

The thing is, it is important. If Columbia sees that his grades are slipping, he might not be able to go. I've heard of that happening. Of people not being able to go to a school because they thought that, after they got accepted, school was a joke.

I tell him this, and he laughs. An actual, I'm-amused-by-you laugh, which surprises me. I must be really fucking hilarious if this is the laugh he's giving me. "Clary," he says after he catches his breath. "Oh my god. I am not getting my acceptance withdrawn because of an essay. Besides, I'm DOING the essay. I'm writing it. Turning it in. The whole deal. So please, PLEASE stop freaking out? Because we had fun, and my academic career is totally safe."

I feel kind of embarrassed, but I don't let it show—not in my expression, anyway. But he can totally tell, because there's shame in my voice. "I just, you know, I don't want to be the reason you do something crazy. You can say no to me. That's part of being friends and trust and all that crap we need to work on."

He nods like this is not new to him, which I suppose it isn't. Sure, he's a teenage boy, but he's clearly not dumb, and he has more experienced in the life department than I do. "I know. I can do all those things and I'll be fine. You're not the kind of person who would bitch at me if I didn't express myself. But, Clary, I wanted to go tonight."

I nod. "Okay. But you better ace that essay."

He pulls up in front of my house and gives me his signature grin. "Got it."

I say goodnight and get out of the car by myself. I walk up the driveway and into my house. The whole bottom floor is empty, so I make my way up and into my room, nearly falling down when I see my bed. My feet are killing me, and I'm sure I'll be exhausted in the morning. I feel like I ran a marathon, even though all I did was walk around and look at paintings and say what I thought about them. I don't know. Thank GOD I finished homework before Jace picked me up, or I would've been more screwed than possible.

I take off my makeup and clothes and change into my pajamas, brushing my teeth with a dazed, zombie-like look on my face. I wish I could skip this whole thing and go to sleep, because I feel like my legs are made of jelly and I weigh a hundred thousand pounds. I send my mom a quick text telling her I made it home safe, and then I send a text to Jace telling him to finish the damn essay. Smiling, I connect my phone's charger to my phone, turn off the lights, and tuck myself in, grateful for the chance to finally—finally—sleep.

* * *

><p>I'm dying.<p>

Why do people ever let me make choices?

It's morning. Yep. Mooooorning. That hasn't hit me, though, but I think that's because I'm avoiding the hitting. I do not—do NOT—want this to hit me. I want to use a stupid excuse, like, "Oh, I overslept because I was tired from the gala" or something. Truth: I am exhausted. My eyes burn when I open them, and my body still feels like it's made of jelly. I feel like I have bruises, too, and I groan at that. Why is there school today? Can't I skip?

I drag myself out of bed, knowing the answer to that already. No fever? I have to go to school. I brush my hair and teeth and shove everything I need into my bag. I take my phone and shove it into the pocket of my hoodie as I make my way downstairs. I take an apple, not really hungry, and make my way out, knowing well that my brother's already waiting for me in the car.

"Are you coming to our game on Friday?" he asks between bites of his bagel.

I raise an eyebrow. "You guys play on Friday?"

He frowns. "Yeah. I thought Jace told you."

I shake my head. What does it mean that he didn't tell me? Is that a bad thing? Maybe he just forgot. Deep breaths, Clary. Do not freak out. He's earning your trust. You can't accuse him of anything. "Nope."

"There is. So," he says, "are you coming?"

Am I? It's their last game, that much I know. And the two of them will be there, and my mom and Luke probably won't be, so, of course, I nod, telling my brother that yes, I will be there.

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think! xo <em>


End file.
